Cheerful Little Earful
by cumberland river relic
Summary: Complete: Sequel to "Clear Blue Morning." Can Teresa Lisbon and Patrick Jane find out why a flying object is buzzing around town? And what's going on between Kimball Cho and a mystery woman?
1. All Shook Up

Author's notes:

Thank you to two great writers and friends, **make-mine-a-kiaora** and **Sue Shay**, for their beta-reads and the opportunity to work with and learn from them. Be sure to check out their stories - I have favorited both authors in my profile for easy access.

Teresa Lisbon and Patrick Jane versus an unidentified flying object? The object doesn't stand a chance. In the meantime, what exactly is going on with Kimball Cho?

"Cheerful Little Earful" is a sequel to "Clear Blue Morning" - an alternate universe where Patrick Jane never went to South America after killing Red John. Instead, he followed Teresa Lisbon to her new home in Cannon River, Washington. In "Clear Blue Morning," Police Chief Teresa Lisbon met mysterious college professor Archie Marbray (_wink, wink!_) and hired him as her consultant (_wink, wink again!_). By the end of "Clear Blue Morning," Marbray confirmed his true identity to Lisbon, foiled a murder plot against her, and married her. In the story "Baby Blue Skies," Lisbon and Jane had a baby.

The character Henry, a Cannon River police officer, appeared in episodes 6x09, "My Blue Heaven," and 6x10, "Green Thumb." I've taken the liberty of creating a last name for him, "Karson."

While none of the new FBI characters from the TV show appear in "Cheerful Little Earful," some dialogue echoes from the post-Red John episodes do pop up.

I do not own the TV show The Mentalist and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

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><p>Chapter 1 - Prologue: "All Shook Up"<p>

* * *

><p>"I'm gonna kill you, Cho. Die, you son-of-a-bitch, die."<p>

Every now and then, Kimball Cho thought about the end of his life.

How would he die? When would he die?

Those two questions first surfaced during his time in the army. They came up again when he was at the California Bureau of Investigation. As things got dicey at CBI, he often thought that he would end up as one more of Red John's victims, a butchered corpse lying under a smiley face. But by some miracle he survived, as did Wayne Rigsby, Grace Van Pelt, Teresa Lisbon, and Patrick Jane.

Tonight Kimball Cho had the answer to his two questions. How would he die? He would die in a wheat field, vaporized into a cloud of flesh, blood, and bone fragments. When would he die? Judging by how fast Rex Skeete charged toward him, he'd be dead within ten seconds.

As he advanced, Skeete leveled his anti-tank weapon at Cho. His own gun now empty, Cho dropped it to the ground. He raised himself to his full height.

"I'll die, but I'm _not_ a son-of-a-bitch like you, Skeete."

Kimball Cho would face his death like a man. As the madman tugged on the trigger, Cho smiled. Defiance welled inside him.

Cho added a new question to his list as he waited: _Why_ would he die? The answer to that one filled him with pride. He and his task force had thwarted disaster. Half of Kansas and a good bit of Nebraska would _not_ turn into radioactive wasteland tonight.

"At least I get the pleasure of seeing you dead, Cho."

It was obvious to Cho: Skeete's plans now ruined, he sought revenge. Killing a lone FBI agent bereft of support was all the man could muster though. Only a handful of people would know what Cho did and why he died, but at least those people would know.

Skeete closed on Cho enough that he could see the wild-eyed glare in the cult leader's eyes. Any ounce of rational thought had boiled away. Had Skeete ever had any? It didn't matter now. Cho's team of agents in town had seized his bomb before he could use it.

All that was left for the crazed man was pure hate. In his eyes, Cho saw a thirst to make someone, anyone pay. And that someone was FBI Agent Kimball Cho.

Why didn't Skeete go ahead and fire? Even if he didn't score a direct hit, the blast would still kill Cho. The answer was clear: Skeete wanted Cho to suffer, and he wanted to see that suffering first hand.

A movement distracted Cho from his thoughts. Behind Skeete something long and metallic flashed as it fell from the heavens. Then the object leveled to head straight for the man's back.

Skeete never knew what hit him. The object speared him like a litter stick stabs a piece of trash on the sidewalk. A ripping noise made Cho shudder. As Skeete fell lifeless, the nose of the object thrust out through his chest. A split-second later the rear section of the object clattered to the ground and broke off.

His heart pounding in his chest, Cho stared in disbelief. Was he still alive, or was he dreaming? In a frenzy of motion, he clutched at his body. By some miracle he stood in one piece, alive and breathing.

The thump-thump-thump of boots tromping across the ground got his attention. Looking up, Cho saw a lone figure clad head-to-toe in camouflage emerge from the brush at the edge of the field. He recognized a pair of blue eyes and the wisp of blond hair sticking out from under her cap. In one hand she held a control box and in the other a pistol. Stopping beside Skeete's body, she looked down and then snorted.

"The only way this could have been more perfect would have been if that bastard had looked over his shoulder right before this baby hit him." The back end of the object clanged when she kicked it with her steel-toed boot. "You know, so he could see what was gonna happen to him." Casting aside the control box, she walked over to Cho and with a light touch rubbed her hand under his chin. "Are you okay, Rascal?"

"Never better, Nymph," he replied. Then he smirked. "You just couldn't stay away from me, could you?"

"Aren't you glad I couldn't? When I saw you heading out from the warehouse, I thought 'That guy needs adult supervision.' Just call me your Guardian Nymph."

Nymph started another one of her wisecracks that always made him smile, but a rustling to his left prompted Cho to look away. Charging out from the brush just as his boss had done moments before came Skeete's minion Weldon Thebeau. What was he doing here? Wasn't he supposed to be at Skeete's warehouse with the others?

A man known for a weak mind but a sure shot, Thebeau blazed away with his sidearm and sported the same wild-eyed glare his boss had.

In an instant, Cho did three things he had trained for. Too bad he hadn't trained to do all of them at the same time. First, he hurled himself and Nymph to the ground. Second, he grabbed her pistol from her hand. Third, as he tumbled downward Cho squeezed off three shots at Thebeau.

Cho's actions proved less-than-perfect. His first shot kicked up a clod of dirt. The second clipped Thebeau's shirt sleeve. But the third shot hit the man square in his mid-section. The impact of the bullet halted Thebeau. Dropping his weapon, he looked down at his stomach. A growing circle of blood stained his shirt. He tottered. Then with a rasp, Thebeau collapsed in a lifeless heap.

_I guess being one-third perfect was good enough this time._

"Are you hit?" he asked Nymph without looking at her.

"I wasn't hit by a henchman's slug, only by a federal lug."

"Huh?" Cho turned his head to look down. His torso lay atop hers, and the lower portion of his body rested between her open legs. He glanced at her face, just millimeters from his own, to find her sporting a devilish grin.

"Gettin' kind of randy, aren't you, Kimball?" Her throaty laugh sounded like music to his ears.

Despite the swirl of action in the last five minutes, he did feel, well, _excited_. He returned a smile. Beyond them he heard a low-humming siren and the crackle of tires on gravel.

"You're the one with the naughty thoughts, Nymph."

"So you're saying it's me, not you, Rascal? Ha! I don't believe that." She glanced down at their bodies and back up at him. "Isn't this just like a man? Trying to get in a gal's pants and not even buying her a good meal first."

The two lay still for a moment gazing in each other's eyes. Nymph wet her lips, and he felt drawn to them like a magnet. Ever so slightly he began to lower his face to meet hers.

"Ut-uhm." The voice above startled Cho. He looked up to see Stan, his second-in-command, standing over them. "Hate to interrupt your party in the moonlight, but we've got to vanish pronto. You two kids break it up."

"The cleaners coming in?" asked Cho as he rolled off Nymph.

Stan twisted his head around to survey the carnage. In the distance, more sirens wailed.

"Yeah, and they've got quite a job to do judging by your handiwork." He extended both his hands to help the pair to their feet.

"How about the teams, Stan?"

Stan nodded over to a pair of vehicles in the clearing.

"Team Rascal is all-present-and-accounted-for. They're waiting for us in the red SUV. Team Nymph is in the green SUV, all-present-and-accounted-for too."

For a moment Cho stood dumbfounded. He survived. His team all survived. And all of Nymph's team had as well. From the corner of his eye, he saw Stan focus on the debris scattered around Skeete's body. He pointed to it as he addressed Nymph.

"How in the hell will you explain that to your boss?"

The throaty laugh cut through the night air again.

"That's what expense accounts are for," she said.

A horn tooting made all three look over to the dust-covered SUVs. The driver's window on the red one rolled down and Gloria stuck her head out.

"We gotta move out now. Right now!"

The three of them jogged over to the vehicles. Doors slid open on the sides, and the agents inside yelled for them to come in. Stan hopped aboard the red SUV first. Before he himself got on, Cho looked around to see his Guardian Nymph climb into the green SUV.

As the door of her SUV slid closed, they made eye contact one last time. She waved goodbye and rode out of his life.

* * *

><p>To be continued.<p>

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><p>Author's notes:<p>

Harry Warren, Ira Gershwin, and Billy Rose wrote "Cheerful Little Earful" in 1930. While Ira Gershwin gained his greatest fame as a lyricist for his brother George, he also wrote lyrics with other composers. Ella Fitzgerald recorded my favorite version of "Cheerful Little Earful" for her album, _Get Happy!_

Otis Blackwell and Elvis Presley wrote "All Shook Up" in 1956, and Presley's recording of it is available on a number of albums including _Elvis: 30 #1 Hits_.


	2. You Can't Make Old Friends

Thank you to two great writers and friends, **make-mine-a-kiaora** and **Sue Shay**, for their help. Be sure to check out their stories - I have favorited them in my profile for easy access.

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

><p>Chapter 2 - "You Can't Make Old Friends"<p>

* * *

><p><em>Two months later…<em>

Grace Van Pelt, her husband Wayne Rigsby, and their old friend Kimball Cho had unpacked boxes on their own for an hour. Their friend and old boss from CBI, Cannon River Police Chief Teresa Lisbon, had gotten a call about a disturbance at the local park. Feeling guilty about leaving the three of them working at her new house while she tended to police business, she promised to return as soon as possible. None of the three held it against her though. While it was a "working vacation" for the trio helping with the move, they enjoyed the reunion and spending time with each other and with Lisbon and Patrick Jane.

"Where've you been?" Grace asked as Wayne and Kimball sauntered into the living room.

"We finished unloading the lawn chairs from the U-haul and were taking a break to try 'em out." Her husband was downing the remnants of a candy bar as he spoke.

Grace wouldn't get mad at the two men; they had been best friends while at CBI. Wayne knew more about Kimball than anyone in their group, and Wayne told her that something worried him about their old friend. What that something was he couldn't fathom though, but it had to do with his FBI job. Since their arrival in Cannon River, Wayne had spent extra time with Kimball. Grace hoped Kimball would open up to her husband about what troubled him. Alas, Wayne reported that all he could find out was that something had happened to their friend, something big that made Kimball Cho draw within himself more than normal. Wayne wouldn't give up, but he knew he couldn't press.

Grace shook herself out of those thoughts. While unpacking for Teresa, she had come across a day-brightner for the trio.

"Guys, look what I found." Grace motioned for the men to see the contents of a box she had just opened. On the side of the box scrawled in marker ink, Teresa had written, "photos - bedroom table."

"I remember this," said Kimball as he lifted out the photo on top. "It's from when we first won the 'CBI Team of the Year' award." He brushed some dust off the frame as Wayne and Grace looked over his shoulder.

"Look at us. You, Wayne and me, Teresa and Jane. All standing around that trophy. It seems like a lifetime ago."

"Hey, look at this one," said Wayne as he lifted out the second picture in the stack, a more recent one.

"Oh, that's so sweet," Grace said as she looked at the wedding photo of Teresa Lisbon and Patrick Jane.

Kimball got a serious look on his face.

"The other day Jane told me that he first planned to go to South America after he fled Sacramento."

"South America?"

"Yeah, to some country that didn't have an extradition treaty with the U.S."

"What made him change his plans?"

Kimball glanced at Grace before he answered her.

"You can guess. Jane told me that he couldn't bear the thought of waking up each day knowing he'd never see Teresa again."

"So he concocted the whole 'Professor Marbray' ruse just so he could be near her?" asked Wayne. "It had to cost a bundle of money to do that."

"Yep," Kimball replied.

"Ahh, guys, that's so romantic, Jane doing all of that for Teresa. And protecting her too."

"Hey, this must be from the day Charlie was born." Cho tapped a fleck of dust off a third picture of Lisbon in a hospital bed cradling her newborn son as she leaned into Jane's embrace. The two parents smiled down at their baby.

Grace pulled out the fourth photo in the stack and stared at a scene from another wedding. In that one Lisbon and Jane flanked a young married couple. Lisbon was hugging the bride and Jane was slapping the groom on his shoulder. By their relaxed body language, Grace could tell all four of them were close.

"Who's this couple? It's gotta be fairly recent because of Jane's facial hair, sometime since Teresa and Jane came to Cannon River."

"The guy is one of her police officers here. His name's Henry. He got a confession out of that hitman hired to kill Teresa," said Cho. "He did a masterful job. Jane coached him. Now he splits time between working for Teresa and going to school at Deverell College. His wife's an EMT who works with the police a lot." Cho looked at his watch. "In a few minutes you'll get to meet him. Henry's helping Jane bring over some stuff that Jane kept in storage at Deverell."

"There's an inscription across the photo. What does it say, Grace?" asked Wayne.

After wiping down the glass surface on the frame, she cleared her throat and read it aloud:

"_To our good friends and mentors Teresa Lisbon and Archie Marbray -_

_Thank you for bringing us together!_

_- Your friends, Annabelle Estes and Henry Karson"_

At that moment, the sound of shoes scuffing across the hardwood floor drew the trio's attention. Patrick Jane himself entered followed by a thin twenty-something. From the photo they'd just looked at, Grace recognized the young man as Henry. Each man carried a stack of college textbooks that tottered back-and-forth on the verge of spilling onto the floor. Peeking over his load, Henry strained to get Jane's attention before he dropped everything.

"Professor Marbray, where do you want these?" His voice quavered under the weight of the books.

"On the far shelf will be fine, Henry," replied Jane.

* * *

><p>To be continued.<p>

* * *

><p>Author's notes:<p>

Ryan Hanna King, Don Schlitz, and Caitlyn Smith wrote "You Can't Make Old Friends." Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers' recording appears on Dolly's 2014 album, _Blue Smoke_.


	3. Stepping Out With My Baby

Thank you to two great writers and friends, **make-mine-a-kiaora** and **Sue Shay**, for their help. Be sure to check out their stories - I have favorited them in my profile for easy access.

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

><p>Chapter 3 - "Stepping Out With My Baby"<p>

* * *

><p>"Henry! Look outside." Henry Karson's wife Annabelle dropped the glass she was holding and it shattered on the floor in a spray of milk and broken glass. Lifting her hands to her mouth, she took two steps back from the window to stand next to her husband. Glancing at his wife, he saw her whole body shaking in fear. Then he looked up.<p>

The last thing Henry Karson expected to see outside his kitchen window at 3am was an object floating in the air.

For the past five nights Henry and his wife had risen from bed at the same time due to the nausea that plagued Annabelle for weeks. And each night they both heard a low humming noise outside. Now they saw something to go along with the sound. Stepping in front of Annabelle, he held his arms wide to shield her. From what he had no idea. Fear gripped Henry too, but his police training - and curiosity - kicked in. He studied the meter-long object.

On the other side of a pane of glass the metallic gray oval-shaped _thing_ hovered. A gentle breeze buffeted its wings as it rocked back and forth. At the end of a long, slender tube at its front, an aperture clicked shut. The object rose slowly then accelerated as it streaked off into the mists of the night.

Henry threw open the window and peered around. Fog obscured his view so he couldn't even see the ground three floors below him. Only at that point did he notice that he was shaking. He gripped the windowsill so tightly that he feared he would break the wood off in his hands at any moment. Taking a few deep breaths to regain control of his heartbeat, he shut the window and turned to find that Annabelle was beside him.

"Have you ever seen anything like that before, Henry?"

"Only in some graphic novels that I had growing up. Science fiction ones. How about you, A.B.?"

"Nothing I've ever seen before."

Henry noticed his wife still quivered. Reaching out, he pulled her into his arms.

"How are you? Are you okay? Is the baby okay?"

Henry gently rubbed his wife's stomach.

"We're fine, but what are we gonna do about that? We both saw what we saw, Henry."

He didn't answer at once. After cleaning up the spilled milk and broken glass from the floor, Henry sat down in a chair at the kitchen table to think. Annabelle took the seat next to him and stroked his arm. Resting his elbows on the table, he rubbed his face with both hands.

Had they been dreaming? No, he and Annabelle were both awake and had both seen the object.

Were his eyes playing tricks on him? No, his police training had steadied his nerves so he could imprint a clear image in his mind - and he couldn't explain that image.

Was it a threat to someone, Annabelle or Henry or others? Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't.

All Henry could conclude was that they had glimpsed something odd outside the window of their third-floor apartment. Odd enough to take action. What should they do?

As with so many things in his life, he settled on one answer.

"We need to talk to Teresa Lisbon and Archie Marbray about it, Annabelle."

* * *

><p>Walking down the hallway of the faculty office building at Deverell College the next morning, Henry heard a familiar sound as he neared Professor Archie Marbray's office. Light crying noises mixed with a low male voice greeted him as he arrived at the door. Fumbling in his pocket, Henry took out his key and opened the door to reveal a familiar scene.<p>

"It's okay, Charlie. There's no need to cry. It's not that bad. We'll turn your frown into a smile in a jiffy," said Marbray.

"Good morning, Professor. I see you're dealing with a disgruntled young person yet again."

"Good morning, Henry. Yes, I am. Could you hand me my travel kit over by the doorway?"

"Of course." He grabbed the kit and brought it over the professor's desk where Marbray was busily at work. After Henry handed it off, he went to his own desk in the corner of the office to drop off his messenger bag.

"Thank you." The professor looked from Henry back down at Charlie. "Now to get you cleaned up, little man. Yes, sir, we will!"

Henry watched in awe as the professor pulled out a package of wet-wipes and in a well-practiced routine removed the offending mess, threw away the dirty materials, and secured a fresh new pull-up diaper on his son. Charlie's sobs changed to coos at once. The job complete, Marbray reached into his mini-refrigerator to retrieve a bottle of juice and gave it to his son while he held him on his shoulder. With Charlie now focused on the bottle, Marbray reached into the kit to extract a small jar of baby food.

"Professor, I need to talk to you about…"

"Henry, have you ever eaten one of these jars of baby food?"

"Not since I was your son's age."

The professor pulled a spoon from his desk drawer, opened the jar, and ladled a scoop of food into his mouth.

"Some of these are quite good. I recommend this sweet potato mix. It's delicious. Charlie's favorite, believe it or not, is the spinach. Must of gotten that trait from Teresa."

"Yes, sir. Professor, I need to talk to you about…"

Marbray cut him off.

"Oh, I almost forgot, Henry. Good news! You and I got another paper accepted for journal publication."

For a moment, Henry forgot about the object he and Annabelle had seen during the night. The thrill of yet another publication, the fifth Henry had co-authored with the professor since he had started working as Marbray's assistant, overwhelmed him. He had to know the details.

"Which one, Professor Marbray? We've got three out for review right now, at least by my count."

"The one titled, _'Visualize the Con: The Use of Imagery in Deception.' _I think it's our best work so far, Henry. At least, I enjoyed us writing it the most."

"I did too, Professor. Shall I put the acceptance notice on 'the wall of success'?"

"Please do."

Marbray handed the sheet of paper to him, and Henry taped it next to the other four. He took a moment to reflect on them as a group:

"_The Con Artist As Trickster: A Historical Study"_

"_Apocalypse Sometime: Mass Hysteria As a Tool of Manipulation"_

"_Showing the Mark What He Wants To See: How the Con Artist Gets Buy-In From the Victim"_

"_Nitwits, Halfwits, and Dimwits: How the Con Artist Sees the World"_

Henry shook his head. The projects all centered around Marbray's pet topics for research. Why did he always focus on these? He couldn't fathom why, but he enjoyed seeing the professor get that gleam in his eyes as a new paper took shape. And Henry of course had benefited too.

"So, Henry, you wanted to talk to me about something?"

He snapped back to reality.

"Yes, sir. Last night Annabelle and I…"

Movement at the doorway distracted them.

"Oh, look guys. We're in luck. There's the big-time college professor doing his academic type of stuff!"

Grace Van Pelt ambled in with her husband Wayne Rigsby and their friend Kimball Cho in tow.

"Well, hello to our three house guests. Where's Teresa?," asked Marbray.

"She stopped by the Campus Security office to talk to the staff there. She'll be along in a few minutes," said Wayne.

Grace reached out to pat Henry on the shoulder as she spoke to him.

"We just met your delightful wife, Henry. She's a real charmer. Annabelle came by the station to talk to Teresa, and she invited her to lunch with us. What a lovely woman."

"Yeah, how did Annabelle end up with an ugly mug like you?" asked Wayne, a broad grin stretched across his face. His wife slapped him on the arm.

"Hush, Wayne. He might not realize you're joking with him." Grace turned back to Henry. "Forgive my husband. We just feel so comfortable around you, and it's obvious how well you and your wife get along with Teresa and Archie. It's almost like you're part of our old gang."

"Annabelle described you as being the 'factotum' for Teresa and Archie," said Wayne.

"Yeah, that's what Annabelle called me the first time she and I talked. She had to explain that factotum meant 'jack of all trades', and I guess that sums up what I do for the chief and the professor - a little bit of everything."

"He's the new us, guys!" Grace said.

The three exchanged knowing glances. Then as if on cue, they all sat down in the guest chairs in the office and stared at the professor.

"Have a seat, why don't you?" Marbray glowered at the trio.

"Thank you…Arch." Kimball Cho glanced over at Henry as he spoke to the professor. "Don't mind if we do."

Since they had arrived in town, Henry rarely saw one of the three without the other two. In his mind, he had dubbed them the Three Musketeers. Henry knew that they all had worked for Chief Lisbon in California, and they displayed that same fierce loyalty he himself felt for the chief. He gathered that helping Lisbon and Marbray move into their new home had been a pretext for a reunion.

On top of that, the Three Musketeers readily embraced the professor as if he were one of their own, and Marbray got as much enjoyment out of their guests as Lisbon did. Although Henry saw a difference in the way the Three Musketters dealt with Marbray. In Lisbon's case, they treated her with a respect that bordered on reverence. Often one of the trio would slip up and call her "Boss." She took it in stride, and they all laughed when she reminded them that now she was "Teresa" to them. How they treated Marbray was another story…

"Don't let us interrupt you, Archie. We just came by to see you do your college professor thing-y," said Grace with an odd glint in her eye. "We thought we might watch you teach a class or something."

"Yeah, Arch, show us what you do." Cho leaned forward in his chair like he awaited Marbray to perform a magic trick.

Henry must have looked bewildered at the Three Musketeers because Wayne noticed and spoke to him.

"Don't get the wrong idea, Henry. We like Archie. As a matter of fact, we always figured that Teresa would end up getting together with someone just like him."

"We just never figured she'd marry a _college professor_." Grace put an odd emphasis on the words "college professor."

"Well, she did, and if you wanted to see me doing _something_ you just missed me changing Charlie's diaper." Again, Henry heard that whiff of sarcasm in Marbray's voice.

"I'm sorry we missed that. It would have been a change of pace to see _you_ cleaning up a load of…" Wayne didn't get a chance to complete his thought because of a new arrival at the door.

"There's my two favorite fellas!" Teresa Lisbon walked over to embrace her husband and her son. She kissed Marbray while Charlie reached out his little arms to his mother. She lifted up her son to clutch him close.

"Our son is all cleaned up and ready to go out on the town with his mother," said the professor.

Seeing Lisbon and Marbray together reminded Henry that he needed to talk to them. He cleared his throat to speak when the chief spied him.

"Ah, Henry! It's good you're here. You, Arch, and I need to talk. Let's go out in the hallway." Lisbon's tone of voice signaled that there was only one response she wanted to hear.

"Yes, ma'am."

Lisbon handed Charlie over to Grace, and Henry followed the chief and the professor into the hallway. She motioned for the men to follow her away from where people were passing by. Once they were by themselves in a corner, Lisbon turned to face them.

"Annabelle told me what you saw last night, Henry."

That got Marbray's attention.

"What?" he asked.

"Henry and Annabelle saw a strange object hovering outside the kitchen window at their apartment."

The professor crossed his arms while he scowled at Henry.

"Why didn't you tell me, Henry? This sounds serious."

"I tried, sir, but…"

Lisbon waved her hands.

"That doesn't matter right now. We've got a problem, and it's not just with Henry and Annabelle. Four calls came in to 911 last night from the same neighborhood. Two of them from other residents of the River Manor Apartments. And there's been at least one 911 call on each of the previous three nights."

"Something's going on, Teresa." The professor looked at his wife with concern.

"I agree, Arch. And the last thing we need is for this mystery object to make the news or social media. Then we'd have every crackpot and his brother descend on Cannon River."

"Agreed."

"What's the plan of action, Chief?" asked Henry.

"Annabelle and I talked. Before you saw the object last night, you'd heard it for the four nights previous. Is that correct, Henry?"

"Yes ma'am."

"It sounds like it's on a regular schedule, at least where you live. I want Archie and me to get a look at whatever this thing is. Henry, you and Annabelle are staying at our house tonight. At the same time, Archie and I will stay over at your apartment. Annabelle and I already worked things out."

Rocking back and forth with excitement, Professor Marbray beamed like a child on his first visit to the zoo.

"Teresa and I are going on a stakeout!"

* * *

><p>To be continued.<p>

* * *

><p>Author's notes:<p>

Irving Berlin wrote "Steppin' Out With My Baby." Fred Astaire recorded my favorite version for his album, _Astaire Story_.

Up next: "Too Darn Hot"


	4. Too Darn Hot

Thank you to two great writers and friends, **make-mine-a-kiaora** and **Sue Shay**, for their help. Be sure to check out their stories - I have favorited them in my profile for easy access.

Please be advised: this chapter contains adult situations, language, and innuendo. If such scenes make you uncomfortable, you may wish to skip to Chapter 5.

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

><p>Chapter 4 - "Too Darn Hot"<p>

* * *

><p>Teresa Lisbon wondered what would happen tonight. Was she fearful? No, she'd dealt with the unknown in other cases. Still she felt <em>uneasy<em>.

The sun had set when she and her husband arrived with their son Charlie in tow at the River Manor Apartment building. Having given a speech to a third-grade class that afternoon, Teresa still wore her police uniform with navy slacks and royal blue blouse covered by a service jacket.

Patrick Jane had had a long day at Deverell College as well. He still wore his normal teaching garb - navy slacks, tweed jacket, and the new white turtleneck shirt she'd gotten him last week. And now he wore a freshly-shined pair of shoes thanks to her influence.

Teresa stole a look at her husband as they made their way down the dimly lit third floor hallway. Despite changing Charlie's diaper before they left home, despite giving two class lectures, despite spending "_73 minutes in hell listening to a sleep-inducing windbag_" at a faculty meeting, he looked as fresh as if he'd just stepped out of his morning shower. As he carried their son, Charlie reached his little arms around his father's neck to squeeze him tight. Patrick glanced over at Teresa and winked.

After knowing him all these years, whether she called him Archie Marbray or Patrick Jane or "Hubby," the man still made her heart skip a beat.

And especially when he was wearing his new white turtleneck shirt…

She put that thought on hold for the time being. They had reached Apartment 325. Teresa pressed the door bell, and a pair of feet shuffled on the other side. As the door swung open, Annabelle stopped its progress while she moved back a step. Once her bulging stomach was clear of the path of the door, she pulled it fully open. Teresa sighed inside at her own memories. She had to readjust so many things large and small when she was pregnant.

"Honey, the chief and the professor are here." Annabelle looked over her shoulder. Seeing no one, she shrugged. "Henry will be here in a minute. We've been getting everything ready for you."

Teresa scrunched her nose.

"You didn't have to do anything special for us."

"Henry's digging around the closet to get his old telescope for you."

Teresa smiled at Annabelle and shook her head. Then she called out.

"Henry, don't worry about your telescope. Archie and I brought our own surveillance gear with us."

What Teresa said prompted her husband to hand Charlie over to her.

"My dear, I'm going to the car to get our sleeping bags and binoculars." With that, he pivoted to scurry back downstairs.

"Sleeping bags, Chief?" Annabelle asked.

"We're going to put them on the floor in the kitchen by the window. Archie and I want ringside seats for the show tonight."

Soon enough her husband returned with a sleeping bag nestled under each arm and two optics cases dangling around his neck.

After Henry and Annabelle helped them get settled, the young couple headed for the door. The one "glitch" for the evening was that the cooling system was out. The stagnant air in the apartment hung over it like a shroud.

"Is there anything else you need, Chief?"

"I think we're all set, Annabelle."

Kissing Charlie on the forehead, Teresa handed her son over to Annabelle.

"We'll take good care of Charlie for you."

"I know you will. This'll be good practice for the two of you!"

Henry walked over and put his arm around Annabelle then spoke to the chief.

"I'm sorry about the air conditioning system. According to the apartment manager, it's out in the whole building. He got really testy on the phone; I must not have been the first tenant to complain."

"Thanks for checking, Henry. Don't worry about us. Archie and I will be fine. Speaking of my Hubby, where did he go?" Teresa had taken to calling him "Hubby" a lot. She had enough trouble reminding herself not to say "Patrick" in public.

"He's standing by the kitchen window looking out."

Teresa laughed.

"If he could will that object to show up, it'd be outside right now."

"No doubt, ma'am."

Annabelle tapped Teresa's elbow.

"I almost forgot. We left some snacks for you in the refrigerator."

"Thank you, Annabelle. You two run along and don't worry any more. We'll be fine."

With Charlie in Annabelle's arms, the young couple excused themselves and pulled the door shut. Now alone, Teresa surveyed the small apartment. It reminded her so much of where she lived when she was just starting out. Looking to the kitchen area, she spied her husband with their two sleeping bags. With care, he unzipped each one and spread them out flat across the floor. The two opened bags side-by-side gave the effect of a giant foamy picnic blanket, only it was indoors.

Joining her husband in the kitchen, Teresa took off her jacket and draped it over a chair. Then she and Patrick sat down on the sleeping bags to stare out the window. And stare. And stare…

Teresa drifted off to sleep, her head resting against her husband's shoulder. When he shifted, she awakened and raised up. Looking out the window, she saw only the dark sky.

"What time is it?"

"11pm, Teresa. You've slept for a while."

"I couldn't help it. This is the nicest stakeout I've ever been on."

"Henry told me that he and Annabelle waxed the floors, laundered the area rugs, everything. The whole place looks spotless and smells pristine."

"Obviously they don't have a child."

"_Yet_. Just think what this place will be like in a few months."

"Yeah, like our place." Teresa cast a glance around where they were sitting. "Still, this is the cleanest floor I've ever sat on."

Her husband put his arm around her.

"I never realized a floor could be so comfortable. And relaxing. These sleeping bags do the trick. Maybe we should do this at our house."

Rather than answer him, Teresa rolled her eyes.

"Do you think this stakeout is in vain?"

"From my own selfish standpoint, no, Teresa. If nothing else, it got us out of the house for some time alone, just you and me. You know I love Charlie and our lives together, and it's good to see the old gang again, but sometimes I miss you even when we're together in a room full of people."

"I feel the same way, Patrick."

He smiled.

"Ahh. 'Patrick,' not 'Archie.' I always like hearing that."

"And I always like the chance to say 'Patrick.'" Teresa stroked her husband's arm as she glanced at him. "Patrick, Patrick, Patrick."

"Yes, yes, yes, my dear." His eyes crinkled. "I'll also admit I much prefer hearing 'Patrick' from you than 'Jane.'"

"Why is that?"

"When you slip up and call me 'Jane', it means that I've done something to upset you. And most of the time you're right to be upset."

She arched her eyebrow.

"Most of the time?"

He sighed.

"Okay, all of the time." Patrick pulled Teresa closer to him. "I've gotten used to 'Archie Marbray,' but hearing 'Patrick' come from your lips always stirs my heart."

"Like you said, our life is so busy we've had precious little private time lately."

Patrick waggled his eyes at her.

"You know something we haven't done in a long time?"

It hadn't been _that_ long ago, the night before, but Teresa decided to play along. She shifted her body so her hip rubbed against his thigh.

"What?"

Patrick waved his hand at their surroundings.

"Go on a stakeout together."

Oh. He wasn't thinking about _that_ after all. Teresa raised up so she could look at him.

"Huh?"

Patrick's eyes met hers.

"That was my favorite time back at CBI," he said.

"Being on a stakeout? That's the most boring job in law enforcement."

"What mattered to me was being with you. Remember how we used to pass the time talking."

Memories from what seemed like another lifetime flooded Teresa's thoughts.

"I do, but I can't really recall anything in particular we talked about," she said.

"Me neither, but we were together. Just you and me. After I went into hiding, I used to dream about us on a stakeout."

Teresa chuckled.

"So your fantasy while we were apart was to go on another stakeout with me?" she asked.

"Fantasy? No, merely going on a stakeout with you was a dream. My _fantasy_ was something more intimate while on a stakeout." Patrick fingered the collar on her uniform blouse.

"On a stakeout?"

"Why not? There's an illicit nature to it, isn't there? Two people who are supposed to be doing something else, something official…"

"But instead of keeping their eyes on the scene…"

"They focus on each other, looking at how the shadows cast their faces in a whole new light…"

Teresa reached over to stroke her husband's chin. At the same time, the slight movement made her realize how stuffy the apartment was. It dampened the amorous feelings that had stirred in her ever since she and Patrick had arrived.

"It's too darn hot," she said.

"Maybe I can make things better."

Patrick got to his feet, flicked the lever on the kitchen window, and opened it as far as it would go. The hint of a breeze wafted into the kitchen. Sitting back down, he looked at Teresa.

"It'll cool off in a bit. For now, why don't you relax some, take another nap? I'm not sleepy; I'll take the first watch," Patrick said.

Teresa leaned her head against his shoulder again, and the last two things she thought of before dropping off to slumber were the jasmine scent of her husband's cologne and the smooth texture of his shirt's fabric where she rested her cheek. She felt as if she'd drifted off into a little slice of heaven in his arms…

* * *

><p>Patrick felt Teresa stir back awake. Relaxing his grip around her, he looked down at a pair of emerald eyes staring back at him. A sleepy smile curled around her lips.<p>

"Did I miss anything?"

"Nothing more than crickets chirping, my dear. And with the window open, they're quite loud. Oh, you did miss an owl hooting about half-an-hour ago."

"Do you think all of this is in vain, Patrick?"

"From the standpoint of the case, maybe so. But to go back to our earlier conversation, I've enjoyed being on the stakeout with you."

"So now that we're parents this is what we have to look forward to for date nights?"

His eyes crinkled.

"You take advantage of what comes your way."

Teresa raised up but remained in Patrick's embrace.

"Do I remember our hosts saying they left some snacks for us?" she asked.

From the floor where they were sitting, Patrick reached for the refrigerator door, opened it, and grabbed a bowl. He lowered it into Teresa's lap. Looking at it, they found it brimmed over with grapes. Big, red, juicy seedless grapes.

"These look good."

He picked a grape off its stem and handed it to her. Putting it in her mouth, she chewed it slowly. A moan of pleasure escaped her.

"This is good. Try one."

Patrick did as Teresa told him. Biting down on the small piece of fruit, he tasted the sweet nectar squirt through his mouth. He let out his own hum of pleasure.

"These are delicious."

Teresa fully sat up. The night breeze coming through the open window, much more brisk now, blew across her face.

"It's cooled off quite a bit. It feels better, but it's still a little stuffy in here."

"Allow me to assist, my dear."

Patrick reached over to undo the top button of her blouse.

"That's better."

She winked at him.

He grabbed another grape and lifted it up. With a smile, she opened her mouth. He laid the grape gently on her tongue then watched as her lips closed around it and the tips of his fingers.

His breath caught.

"Sorry it isn't cooler in here."

"We'll manage. Have another grape, Hubby."

Teresa picked up another one but instead of lifting it to him, she tossed it into his mouth. He closed his eyes as he bit down.

"Hum! Have another yourself, Teresa."

He mimicked his wife and tossed a grape into her mouth. She snapped her lips closed, but in a moment reopened her mouth to reveal the grape balanced on her tongue. With a giggle, she shifted the grape to her teeth and bit down. All the while she never took her gaze from her husband.

His heart beat faster.

They began to take turns feeding grapes to each other, tossing them back and forth. Both took care in how they aimed. Once, Teresa's throw went wider than she meant, but he jerked his head to the side to snare it.

"Good catch, Patrick."

He held the grape between his front teeth while he stretched out a grin as best he could.

They kept up with their game until at last she missed one of his tosses. Bouncing off her cheek, the errant grape skittered across the floor. Teresa looked at Patrick.

"I should have done a better job of catching that."

"You tried your best, my dear."

"I just feel so confined." She reached up to her blouse and undid two more buttons.

His…_ahem_…manhood stirred.

In a few moments Patrick himself missed a grape. Silence hung between them as the grape rolled to a cabinet then bounced off it back to the middle of floor.

"I feel confined too." He shrugged out of his sport coat and tossed it across the back of a chair.

They returned to their game, although their aim - and ability to catch - got worse. When a grape bounced off Teresa's nose, she arched her eyebrows. Reaching to her blouse, she undid the rest of the buttons and twisted out of it. Without looking, she flung the blouse over to the chair.

"That's better. Now let's see what you can do, mister."

They resumed their tosses. Soon enough, Patrick missed one. He plucked the material on the sleeve of his turtleneck then looked at his wife.

"Well, as much as I like this new turtleneck, it's got to come off."

"Let me help you, Patrick."

Teresa reached over to pull the shirt out from where he had tucked it into his pants. Then she inched the shirt up his torso. Patrick felt her fingernails drift across his skin as it rose. When she reached his chest, her fingertips lingered, tracing circles across his skin. His breath shortened. Raising her eyebrows, she coaxed him to lift his arms so she could pull the shirt over his head. Once done, she tossed it so that it landed on top of her things.

"That's better," he said.

"Better?" Teresa asked. She leaned over to kiss his chest.

"The best."

"Not the _best_ just yet." With another kiss on his chest that made him light-headed, she leaned back. "Let's play some more."

Soon enough, another grape went wide of Teresa's mouth.

"Take something off, my dear."

Teresa got a pouty look on her face.

"Not fair. Your throw went wide. You're just as guilty as I am."

"What should we do?"

"Maybe _both_ of us are still too confined."

With that, Teresa stretched out across the sleeping bags. Bringing her hands to her uniform slacks, she fingered the belt until it slid open. Her gaze riveted on Patrick, she unzipped her slacks. That done, she wiggled out of them and flipped them aside.

She arched her eyebrow.

"Your move, Hubby."

Patrick needed no prompt. In seconds, his own pants hurtled through the air toward the chair. They almost made it, falling on the tile floor in front of one of the chair's wooden feet.

"Oops."

Teresa smirked.

"Huh. You couldn't keep it up long enough to accomplish the task."

"I do plenty well keeping things up."

She leaned over to stroke his beard.

"I guess you do. Some things anyway…"

"Damn straight I do."

Teresa ran gaze downward from Patrick's face.

"Speaking of things that are straight…"

When she looked back up, she barely had time to react to the grape streaking across the space between them. In a flash she opened her mouth and snared the fruit between her teeth.

"Bravo, my dear!"

The two of them embarked on frenzy of exchanges, each trying to get the better of the other.

"…almost. You nearly had me on that one…"

"…getting tired, old man? Cause if you are…"

"…oh, too bad, dear Teresa. If you'd only just anticipated…"

"…ha, ha; you didn't see that one coming, did you? What happened to your so-called powers of observation that you…"

"…Ha! Gotcha…"

Within ten minutes neither of them had stitch of clothes remaining on them. Together they looked over at the pile of garments resting on and around the chair.

"It seems neither of us has anything left to shed, Teresa." Patrick said while turning back to look at his wife.

"I guess that means we've got to be more careful with the grapes."

"Indeed."

Teresa picked up a grape and held it with her lips so it remained outside her mouth. She leaned over to Patrick. When their lips met, he felt her tongue push the grape into his mouth. Before she pulled back, her lips brushed across his in a soft motion.

"Success!" she said as she watched him eat the grape.

"Let me try." Patrick mimicked his wife's technique, only he let his lips linger on hers an extra moment.

He saw a frisky look on her face.

"My turn again."

Teresa moved her body forward. Her lips covered her husband's as they shared a deep kiss. When they finally pulled back to catch their breaths, Patrick panted out a few words.

"You forgot the grape, Teresa."

"Forgot? I knew exactly what I was doing, Patrick."

Clutching his wife close to him, he spun them around and down to the surface of the sleeping bags. Now their bodies touched each other from head to toe. Looking at his wife, he saw her smirk again.

"My, my, professor. Is that a lectern or are you just happy to see me?"

"What if I answered 'yes' to both those questions?"

"Then I'd say you're full of it."

"I am full, Teresa. Full of passion. For you."

"I can tell."

At times like this he sought to make up for all those years in Sacramento when they shared friendship but not passion. Just as he had with his first wife Angela long ago, Patrick dedicated himself to becoming a student of Teresa - learning her likes, her dislikes, and what drove her wild. His memory palace catalogued each and every fact he gleaned about her. On the subject of Teresa Lisbon, he applied himself as only a top student would - methodical yet inventive, focused yet fervent, loving yet lascivious.

Teresa brought both her hands to Patrick's head, running her fingers on one hand through his curly locks. With her other hand she stroked his beard as they smooched. Soon he moved his lips to the outline of her jaw. Taking his time, he kissed his way down the entire length of her body.

Patrick relished the shudders that his touches and kisses produced in Teresa. At times like this, she was more than his wife, more than the mother of their child, more than his soul mate. Something more primal drove him - she was the woman he wanted, the woman he needed to _gratify_.

That said, he still liked to have fun with her…

With a fluid motion, Patrick brought his face next to Teresa's again. Her eyes fluttered open and looked at him. Smirking himself, he spoke to her in a mock-whiny voice.

"So, Officer, was that okay? 'Cause… 'cause… I was trying really hard. Honest I was. When you fill out your report on me, could you…"

"Jane, you idiot. Shut up."

She tried to cut off his laughter by hurling him down on the sleeping bag and sitting atop him.

"Is this what they call police brutality, ma'am? 'Cause if it is, I wanna file a…"

"Jane, you idiot. Shut up."

She reached down to pin her husband's shoulders against the sleeping bag.

"Ma'am, if you're trying to get a confession out of me…"

"Jane, you idiot. Make love to me."

He needed no further invitation.

"With pleasure, ma'am."

As he watched her, she reached behind her head to undo the pin that held her hair in a tight knot. Once untethered, locks of her silky mane dropped across her shoulders. In one motion, Patrick pulled Teresa to him and flipped her over so he lay atop her. They gazed at each other until she broke the silence.

"Well what are you waiting for, Hubby?"

Indeed…

* * *

><p>Much later, their passion now spent, Patrick sank to the floor. He pulled Teresa's body back to his. They lay still except for fingers that guided their lips together. Soon both fell into a stupor, sated and exhausted at the same time.<p>

How long did they lay like that? Patrick lost his sense of where he was until he heard a noise outside. The cloud that shrouded his mind dispersed; his thoughts focused.

"The stakeout." Patrick spoke in a voice so thin it barely cut through the air.

"The stakeout?" Teresa asked in a question weighed down by torpor.

"The stakeout!" They shouted in unison as they sprang from the floor.

They crowded the window then recoiled in shock. Less than a meter away, an object pulsed flashing lights as it hovered. Whirring noises sounded from its underside.

Patrick recovered from his surprise before Teresa did. Hands on hips, he studied the object as he heard his wife scramble for her pistol. When she returned to his side, Patrick kept his focus on it but spoke to her.

"It's just outside the window. I can reach out and touch it."

"Yeah."

"And that's what I'm gonna do."

Patrick lunged forward, his upper torso moving through the window with his fingertips grasping at the object.

He heard Teresa scream behind him.

"No, Patrick, no!"

* * *

><p>To be continued<p>

* * *

><p>Author's notes:<p>

Cole Porter wrote the song "Too Darn Hot" in 1948. Ella Fitzgerald recorded my favorite version for her album, _Ella Fitzgerald Sings the Cole Porter Songbook_.

Next up: "Hell On Heels"


	5. Hell On Heels

Author's notes:

Thank you to two great writers and friends, **make-mine-a-kiaora** and **Sue Shay**, for their help. Be sure to check out their stories - I have favorited them in my profile for easy access.

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

><p>Chapter 5 - "Hell On Heels"<p>

* * *

><p><em>The next morning…<em>

Curiosity ate at Henry as he approached the police station for his shift. How had the stakeout gone? Had the chief and the professor found out anything? Did the object even appear?

Pulling his car into the parking lot, he saw Officers Michaela Hinks and Warrick Albury carrying bouquets of flowers into the station. Henry knew what that meant.

_Oh, no! What did Professor Marbray do to upset Chief Lisbon now?_

As he walked across the pavement, Michaela called out to him.

"There's one more flower arrangement in the professor's car. Bring it in with you."

Henry grabbed the last vase, one with a mix of red, yellow, and white roses, and made his way to the chief's office. As he came to the door, Michaela and Warrick passed by him outbound at a quick pace. They had deposited their handfuls of flowers as fast as possible and turned tail.

_That's not good. _

Once inside the office, Henry saw a familiar sight - the Three Musketeers staring at Lisbon and Marbray. Now though the three mimicked their old boss' pose - all had their arms crossed as they frowned at Professor Marbray. In contrast, the professor stood with his arms outstretched, palms up in supplication as he spoke.

"Please, Teresa. Please forgive me. I know I got into a pickle."

"A pickle? A pickle is forgetting to pay a utility bill. You almost died last night."

"But I didn't. You rescued me. Again." The professor's attempt at a smile got drowned out by his wife's scowl.

"The worst part is you were reckless. It was your own fault. That's not the way our lives are supposed to be now."

"I know. I wasn't thinking."

"That's right. You weren't thinking. But now you've got a wife and a son who love you and need you. I don't want to hurt like I did before. You and Charlie are the best things to ever come into my life."

The chief teared up. In response, the professor pulled out a handkerchief and began to tamp the tears away from her eyes. As he did so, Marbray began to sob as well.

"Please don't cry, Teresa. I know I made a mistake. I do all sorts of shenanigans. Sometimes they work, sometimes they don't. But I love you and Charlie and I would never do anything intentionally to jeopardize our life together. Is there any way that you can forgive me?"

"I…I…" The chief couldn't complete her thought.

"The truth is, I've loved you ever since I've known you. And that's what makes the stupid thing I did that much worse. The only saving grace was that you were there to save me. That sums up my entire life when you think about it - you saved me. Please don't shut me out."

The couple embraced. Lisbon's fingers gripped the fabric of Marbray's jacket like a vice. After a sigh she took the handkerchief from her husband, wiped the last moisture from her eyes, and spoke.

"I love you. I forgive you. Just please be more careful. We've built a good life together, and I don't want to lose you again."

Even a year ago, Henry would have left the room, not daring to speak up. Now he had been around the chief and the professor long enough to embolden him. He cleared his throat.

"What happened at the apartment last night?"

Neither Lisbon nor Marbray answered him. They had gone off into their own little world as they hugged each other. Instead Grace Van Pelt piped up.

"According to Teresa, that object you and Annabelle saw came back. She and Archie had left the kitchen window open. While they were looking at it, Archie lunged for it."

"He tried to grab it?"

"Yeah. Only it moved away from him and left Archie sliding out your kitchen window. At the last second, Teresa gripped his leg and pulled him back inside."

Henry shook his head in disbelief.

"No wonder the chief is mad at him."

"Wayne and Kimball and I, we're all mad at J-er-Archie too. It's just like him to do a stunt like that."

The professor looked up.

"Do I need to apologize to you guys too?"

"It wouldn't hurt," said Grace.

"Then I apologize to you as well."

In unison the three nodded.

"What hurts us the most is that you hurt Teresa. You should know better by now than to do that," said Wayne.

Henry stared at the group. The chief had said she didn't want to hurt like she did "before." Grace had started to call the professor a "J" word like when the chief called him "Jane." And Wayne had just told Marbray that he should know better "by now." What was going on among these people? Certain facets of Lisbon and Marbray's life always puzzled Henry, and the arrival of the three friends deepened the mystery. These people bewildered him. Would he and Annabelle be like that when they got that old?

A sudden movement by the doorway got everyone's attention. Officer Warrick Albury stuck his head in.

"Chief? There's a woman here who insists on seeing you. She says…"

That's all he got out of his mouth before a gray-haired dervish of motion swept past him into the office, a woman Henry guessed to be in her late sixties.

"Chief Lisbon! Uhh, I mean Teresa! I'm so glad I caught you. I must talk with you." The woman glanced around the room then smiled when she saw the professor. "Oh! And your husband is with you. I'm glad you're here too, Professor Marbray. Ahmmm, Archie. I remember you both told me to call you by your first names."

The woman reached out with both hands to grasp the chief and the professor at the same time. Henry could tell that Lisbon had recognized the woman but was fumbling for a name. Leave it to her husband to handle that. Marbray spoke up.

"Viola Grainger. It's so good to see you again. It's been what, a couple of months since the Alumni Dinner over at Deverell College? We were seated next to you, weren't we?"

Viola grinned.

"It was so good to have dinner with you both. I'm thankful the two of you are here in Cannon River. We're a better community because of you. And Deverell is certainly a better school with you being there, _Mr. Professor-Of-The-Year_."

Once again, that odd relationship that the Three Musketeers had with Marbray surfaced. The mouths of all three of them dropped open.

"Wait a minute. Ma'am, you said the professor here got an award?" asked Wayne.

Viola looked over at Wayne Rigsby as if he had descended from another planet.

"You must not be from around here. It was a big story; it got written up in the _Cannon River Digest_. The Deverell student body president presented Archie with this year's Professor of the Year award." She looked back at Marbray again. "Or should I use that nickname he said all the students call you, 'Dr. Truth'?"

Grace Van Pelt clutched her husband's arm as she inhaled a deep breath. Both hers and Wayne's lips began to twitch as their eyes squinted closed. Their faces reddened and at the same time a pair of snorts burst out of their mouths.

Kimball Cho, whom Henry had regarded as the stoic one of the trio, inhaled a deep breath too. With his voice cracking, he tapped Wayne on the shoulder.

"Gotta excuse myself a minute." Kimball sucked in another big gulp of air. "Gotta go get a coffee."

With that, he walked around the corner of a partition into the chief's kitchenette area. A fraction of a second later, the loudest guffaw Henry had ever heard vibrated off the walls.

Grace had more or less gotten herself back under control until she looked over at Professor Marbray. Then she burst out laughing. Crossing his arms, the professor scowled at her.

"You got a problem with that, Grace? It's a pet name the students gave me."

Wayne came to the aid of his wife.

"So you got the professor of the year award? You know you're gonna have to tell us _all_ about it, _Dr. Truth_."

Viola waved her hands in the air to get everyone's attention.

"Sorry to say this isn't a social call. I need to talk with the chief about a matter of great urgency. It concerns the welfare of this city."

That got the attention of everyone, particularly Lisbon.

At that moment Kimball Cho returned from the kitchenette to stand beside Wayne Rigsby again. Oddly, he did _not_ have a cup of coffee in his hands.

"What is it Viola?" asked Chief Lisbon.

"I live across the street from the River Manor Apartments and saw something early this morning. It was still dark so I couldn't make out much about what was going on. But I've got a good idea."

"Was it some kind of metallic object?" asked Lisbon.

Viola waved her hand in a dismissive way.

"No, it wasn't that. Much worse."

"What was it? Some other object?" asked Marbray.

"No, it was a man. Hanging out of a third floor window."

The professor and the chief glanced at each other.

"Did you get a good look at the man? Could you identify him?"

"No, Archie. It was too dark to see his face." Henry heard two sighs of relief come from Lisbon and Marbray. "But I did see he was nekkid," said Viola.

Now Henry along the the Three Musketeers stared at the professor.

"Naked?" Marbray's voice cracked as he spoke.

The woman nodded her head for emphasis.

"Yes. 'Nekkid as a jay bird' as the old saying goes." At that instant, Viola looked over at Henry and the Three Musketeers with her brow knotted. "I'm not sure how much I should be saying in front of these folks."

Grace Van Pelt spoke up.

"Oh, don't mind us, we're all friends of Teresa and Archie's. And we all work with law enforcement. You can tell us everything you tell them. So he was as naked as a jaybird? We'd like to hear about this too."

"It wasn't just Nekkid Boy I saw; I saw someone else too."

"Oh, you have to tell us, Viola."

"Coming out after him was a woman. And she was nekkid too."

"Let me get this straight. There were a man and a woman, both naked as you say, fooling around outside the third floor window?" asked Henry. _His and Annabelle's third floor window!_

"Yes. Only I would say they were cavorting up there, out in public for the whole world to see their sinning."

"Did you get a good look at the woman, Viola?" Chief Lisbon's voice trembled.

"Again, I couldn't see her face, just that she was nekkid too."

"Oh." The chief breathed a sigh of relief.

"But I could tell that she was one of those kinky girls I've read about."

"Kinky girls?" asked Grace.

"Absolutely. I've read about how women like that are taking over big cities like Seattle and Portland, but I'd never expected one to come to Cannon River to flaunt her debauchery here."

"Ma'am, you must tell us everything you saw. Don't spare any details. We're old enough to handle it," Grace said.

Viola looked at the Three Musketeers and Henry.

"Oh, I know you said you all worked with law enforcement, but some things are so sordid it's hard to say out loud."

"Try, please do try. It'll be good to unburden yourself and share your distress with us," Grace said.

"Well, that kinky girl had grabbed the nekkid boy's leg and wrapped her arms around it. I'm convinced it was some sort of deviant sexual maneuver. They were wiggling and twisting back and forth. Nekkid Boy was screaming but she wouldn't let go."

"This sounds so disgusting. Tell us more," said Wayne.

"Actually, I feel kind of sorry for Nekkid Boy," said Viola.

"You do?" Marbray asked.

"Yes, I think he was actually trying to get away from Kinky Girl, but she wouldn't let him go. He was flailing his arms around in the air." Viola stretched out her arms above her head in a circling motion. "But Kinky Girl wasn't having any of that. She was hauling him back into that apartment for more of who knows what kind of depravity. That poor man, getting dragged against his will into that den of iniquity. Do you think he survived?"

Kimball piped up.

"Huh. I forgot my coffee. Excuse me. I gotta go back to the kitchenette." After he did so an even louder guffaw thundered off the walls.

Silence fell over the group of people as glances darted among them. Everyone ended up looking at Teresa Lisbon and Archie Marbray. Just when the quiet in the room was about to move from uncomfortable to excruciating, Professor Marbray waggled his eyebrows at his wife and answered Viola.

"Viola, I don't think I'm breaking any confidences by sharing this with you. Nekkid Boy came to the police station this morning."

"He did? So he's still alive."

"He is. Furthermore, he said he didn't want to be rescued from Kinky Girl, and believe me if you heard some of the things that Kinky Girl did to him you'd…" Marbray didn't finish his statement because Lisbon slapped his arm. He looked at her then resumed. "My dear wife just reminded me that we do have to maintain confidentiality so I won't go into any more details. Let's leave it that Nekkid Boy has made clear that he never wants to leave or hurt or make trouble for Kinky Girl. That guy is gob-smacked in love with her…and apparently the feeling is mutual."

"That's the impression I get too," said Teresa as she rubbed her husband's arm.

"After we had our discussion in this office, Nekkid Boy agreed to curtail public scenes like the ones he and Kinky Girl put on last night. They'll keep their tomfoolery private from now on." Marbray shot a quick look over at Lisbon then back to Viola.

"Well, at least you got them to do that. Their licentiousness won't be on display for the whole world to see."

"I agree. Let's just be thankful for that, Viola," said Marbray as he patted her shoulder.

"Viola, did you happen to see anything else last night?" asked Lisbon.

"You mean like that metal object?"

"Yes."

"Oh, I did. My daughter is in town visiting so I woke her up to take a look at Nekkid Boy and Kinky Girl, but when we got to the window they were gone. My daughter and I did see the metal object though."

"Both of you witnessed it?"

"Yes, but my daughter got a better look than I did. She's out in the lobby, would you like for me to have her come in?"

"Yes, ma'am. We'd like to talk with her," said Lisbon.

Before she turned around to leave, Viola reached out to clasp Lisbon and Marbray again.

"Thank you for listening to an old woman like me ramble on. Despite what I saw last night, I rest easier knowing that two people like you are in the world and especially here in Cannon River. Thank you for being who you are." Viola looked over at Henry, Grace, and Wayne. "You know, you youngsters can learn a lot from this fine couple."

"You are so right, ma'am. We learn new things every day," said Wayne.

"I'll send my daughter in to see you." With that, Viola Grainger walked out the door.

Before anyone had a chance to catch their breath, a blond in her thirties strode in, preceded a good three paces by her air of confidence. First spending a moment to take the measure of each person in the room as if she had X-ray vision, the woman focused on the chief and the professor. Then she stuck out her hand in greeting.

"Chief Teresa Lisbon of the Cannon River Police Department and Professor Archibald Marbray of Deverell College, I'm pleased to finally meet the two of you. I'm Cappadocia Grainger."

* * *

><p>To be continued.<p>

* * *

><p>Author's notes:<p>

Miranda Lambert, Ashley Monroe, and Angaleena Presley wrote "Hell On Heels," and they recorded it as the vocal group Pistol Annies on their 2011 album of the same name.

Up next: "It Had To Be You"


	6. It Had To Be You

Author's notes:

Thank you to two great writers and friends, **make-mine-a-kiaora** and **Sue Shay**, for their help. Be sure to check out their stories - I have favorited them in my profile for easy access.

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

><p>Chapter 6 - "It Had To Be You"<p>

* * *

><p>Henry watched while Cappadocia Grainger stood with her hand extended as Teresa Lisbon and Archie Marbray stared at her. Slowly each of them raised a hand to shake hers.<p>

"Ms. Grainger, did you want to file a report about the couple your mother observed?"

The woman scrunched up her nose.

"No. My mother saw that couple but I didn't." She chuckled. "Besides, I could care less about what two people are doing in the middle of the night unless I'm one of those two people."

Henry could see the chief and the professor relax their postures.

"Ma'am, am I to understand that you saw the flying metal object last night?" asked Lisbon.

"Yes, I did, and it might be good for you to know my observations."

"Good, because…"

Ms. Grainger interrupted the chief.

"I suppose the first reaction of some people would be to label it a UFO."

"Yes, ma'am, that's…"

"And technically that would be a correct answer for most people, based on the fact that UFO simply stands for Unidentified Flying Object. It doesn't necessarily mean space aliens."

"Yes, ma'am, so if you…"

"In my case, it would be better to term it an IFO, an Identified Flying Object. What I don't know is why it's flying around my mother's neighborhood."

"You say you know what the object is?"

"It's a drone." Ms. Grainger stopped talking to look at the chief's bewildered face. "Yes. A drone. A civilian version of a small surveillance drone that the government uses. I'm guessing the XG-57a or more likely the XG-57b."

"Ms. Grainger, how long have you been in town?"

"A week."

Chief Lisbon crossed her arms.

"That's about how long this object has been flying around."

Ms. Grainger waved her hand to dismiss the chief's intent with the question.

"I'm not the source of your drone, Chief. I work for the government, the Feds; and I'm familiar - quite familiar - with the military version of your drone menace. I've used the XG-58b and XG-58c for some time now. That's why I recognized the shape of the XG-57."

Until this point, the professor had stayed out of the conversation, rubbing his chin as he looked at Ms. Grainger. Henry recognized that gesture as one Marbray fell into while he was evaluating an academic topic - or a suspect. His face brightened as he spoke, another sign to Henry that the professor wanted to steer the conversation his way.

"Sorry, Ms. Grainger, I didn't catch the federal agency you work for."

Ms. Grainger didn't miss a beat.

"You're certainly a keen observer, aren't you, Archie." Then she addressed the chief. "You married a smart one there, didn't you, Teresa? May I call you Teresa and Archie? You can call me Capp."

Henry saw something he rarely saw - someone besides Chief Lisbon who made Professor Marbray shut up.

"How did you know we were married, ma'am? Did your mother tell you about us?"

"No. She had only said that she'd met the police chief when we talked before coming down here. I knew about you before my mother ever came to Cannon River. As a matter of fact, I made it point to find out before I would support Mom's move."

"I don't follow…_Capp_."

"Teresa, my mother and I are two gals who don't see eye-to-eye on very much, but we both study things a lot. I love her dearly and look out for her. When she told me her intent to move to Cannon River and asked if I approved, I applied my intelligence-gathering skills to your city. Mom had grown up here and had a 'hankering' as she put it to come back. I had to find out if Cannon River was still the 'Paradise of the Pacific Northwest' that she grew up in."

"And what did you find?"

"Only good things, things that reflect well on you. I don't have to tell you that in the time since you've become the police chief, Cannon River's crime rate decreased 23%. That's remarkable for any city of any size. I credit that your leadership."

"Thank you." Henry saw the chief perk up; a compliment affected her like anyone else.

"And since you brought in the professor here as a consultant, your case-closed rate has improved 21%. Again, that's a miracle for any city of any size. No wonder you two married! You were already joined at the hip as it were. You make a good team. Of course for you…"

Lisbon cut off Capp Grainger before she could complete her sentence.

"Getting back to the drone…"

"So you believe me now, Teresa?"

"Let's suppose for a minute that's true."

"And it is, believe me."

Henry saw something snap with the chief. Her eyes darkened. One thing she had a hard time tolerating was when someone else seized control in an interview, and up to this point Capp Grainger had pretty much steered the conversation any which way she wanted. He knew that didn't sit well with Lisbon.

"Why should we believe that you, an expert on drones, have nothing to do with this one aside from merely visiting across the street from where it appeared. Surely you can understand our skepticism about…"

"Capp!" Cho had rounded the corner from the kitchenette and stood dumbstruck as he looked at the new arrival. She had the same look on her face for a moment but then her in-control demeanor returned.

Capp Grainger pushed - _pushed!_ - her way in between Chief Lisbon and Professor Marbray, knocking them both off-balance to get to Cho.

"Kimball Cho, you randy rascal!" She hugged him then wrapped her arms around his waist.

"Capp, you naughty nymph!" In turn Cho wrapped his arms around her waist. His face clouded for a moment, and Henry could tell he was in thought. "Viola Grainger. Capp…Grainger. Hey, your actual last name _is_ Grainger. I thought you'd just given me a made-up name when we worked together."

"Normally, I do. But in your case I made an exception. Viola is my mother."

Henry heard Wayne whisper to his wife. "Grace, does it feel like the temperature in here just shot up ten degrees?" They exchanged conspiratorial looks.

Shutting off the whole rest of the world including the other people gathered in the office, Cho and Grainger gazed at each other as they stayed locked in their embrace. Henry looked over at the chief and the professor and found their stern expressions had softened.

"Ut-uhm." Chief Lisbon cleared her throat. "Kimball, I take it that the two of you have met before? Capp says she works for the federal government."

"That's right, Teresa." Cho never looked away from Capp Grainger as he replied to the chief. "We worked on an inter-agency mission together a while back."

"Capp says she's knowledgeable about drones, and what we have here in Cannon River is a drone flying around town."

Cho chuckled.

"She's well-versed in those."

"So, you can vouch that she shouldn't be a suspect in this case?"

At last Cho and Grainger released each other.

"Capp is many things, but a suspect in your case is not one of them. I can vouch for her."

Professor Marbray spoke up.

"I didn't catch what the mission was that you two were working on, Kimball."

"You didn't, did you? Smart boy." Now Cho made Marbray shut up. Would wonders never cease?

"Don't be too hard on Archie and Teresa, Kimball. I'm glad they're in Cannon River protecting my mother and the other law-abiding people." Grainger stopped for a moment, looking at Lisbon then Cho. She smiled. "Wait a minute! You told me you worked for the California Bureau of Investigation before you came to the FBI. Now I remember; you worked for Teresa and you worked with…"

Cho gave a quick scan of the room.

"Yeah, I worked with Grace Van Pelt and Wayne Rigsby over here to my left. We've been having a reunion of sorts this week, helping Teresa and her husband Archie move into their new house. It's been good seeing the old gang again. And getting to know Archie Marbray."

"Uhh, yeah. Right." As with so much that surrounded Archie Marbray, something about the conversation between Cho and Grainger seemed a bit off to Henry.

Cho had not taken his gaze away from Grainger, and now he shook his head.

"Of all the police stations in all the towns in all the world you walk in here."

"Aren't you glad I did?" Capp Grainger stroked Cho's shoulder.

Cho grinned at her. Henry had seen - and heard - more emotion from Cho in the last half hour than at any time since he'd met him.

Chief Lisbon tugged on the sleeve of her husband's jacket.

"Arch, what Kimball just said sounds kind of familiar. What is it?"

"He was paraphrasing a quote from _Casablanca_," Marbray replied.

"_Casablanca_?"

"Yeah. That old movie with Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman."

"Huh? I've never seen it."

Marbray did something in response to Lisbon that Henry often saw Lisbon do to Marbray: he rolled his eyes.

"Really? Reeeaaally?" Marbray shook his head. "Teresa, my dear, we need to get you caught up on pop culture."

* * *

><p>To be continued.<p>

* * *

><p>Author's notes:<p>

Isham Jones and Gus Kahn published "It Had To Be You" in 1924, and Dooley Wilson performed the song in the movie _Casablanca_. My favorite version is Ella Fitzgerald's on her album, _Twelve Nights In Hollywood_.

Up next: "You Do Something To Me"


	7. You Do Something To Me

Author's notes:

Thank you to two great writers and friends, **make-mine-a-kiaora** and **Sue Shay**, for their help. Be sure to check out their stories - I have favorited them in my profile for easy access.

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

><p>Chapter 7 - "You Do Something To Me"<p>

* * *

><p>Teresa Lisbon marveled at the change that had come over her former second-in-command. Kimball Cho and Capp Grainger kept looking at each other and ignoring everyone else. The pair had withdrawn into their own little world. Glancing at her husband, he spoke to her.<p>

"Teresa, my dear, why don't we invite Capp to have lunch with the rest of us?" Then he looked over at Henry. "And let's bring Henry along as well. I've got some questions about the River Manor Apartments to ask him. Will you join us, Henry?"

"Are you buying, Professor? If you are, I'm in."

Her husband nodded and the two men walked to the door.

Teresa also marveled at the change that had come over Henry since she had first met him. Would the young man have had the moxie to joke about something like that when she first met him? No. He had matured so much, it was like he was an entirely new person now. Of course, his marriage to Annabelle had influenced him as well.

Marriage. Teresa looked at her own husband again as he exited the office. Was the new Archie Marbray that different from the old Patrick Jane? No and yes. No, he could still get into all sorts of trouble when he had half-a-mind to. Yes, because since they had married, her Patrick did have a new outlook on life. She could tell when he felt remorse for something he did, and he also kicked up a fuss far less as Archie than as Jane. Further, she delighted in the love that he shared with her and their son Charlie. Archie Marbray had become the Patrick Jane she had always yearned for.

Teresa glanced up to see that everyone had now walked out of her office except for Capp, who was studying Teresa's old CBI photos on the office wall. Then the woman turned to look at her with what? Hope in her eyes?

"Capp, would you join all of us for lunch over at Nan's Place? We'd love to have you with us."

"I'd like that very much, Teresa." Then her face clouded. "Oh. I came here with Mom. Let me arrange it with her."

The two women walked down the hallway to join the others. When they got to the lobby, Capp froze. Teresa followed her line of sight to the other side of the room and saw what upset her. Kimball and Viola were talking. And joking.

_Kimball Cho joking about something?_

Would wonders never cease? Teresa turned back to Capp to find her trembling. The woman's distress compelled her to try to put Capp at ease.

"It doesn't look so bad, Capp. It looks like the two of them are getting along well."

"With Mom you never know what'll pop out of her mouth."

The two women approached Viola and Kimball.

"Capp, I'm glad I got to meet your mother. Now I know where you get your charm and your good looks from," said Cho.

"Oh, Kimball, you're such a gentleman to say that," Viola said and then looked at Capp. "This man _is_ a true gentleman."

"If you ladies will excuse me, I need to go drive my car around to the front of the station." Kimball patted Viola's hand and winked at Capp.

As soon as Kimball was out of earshot, Viola turned to Capp.

"That man!"

Teresa could tell that the tone of her mother's voice had put Capp on edge.

"Now, Mom. I don't want to hear you find fault with Agent Cho…"

Viola cut off her daughter.

"Find fault? Oh, dear child, whatever for?"

"Huh?"

"He's such a nice, clean-cut, well-spoken man."

While Capp gaped at Viola, Teresa took to the opportunity to address the mother.

"Viola, Capp has helped us figure out some things about that metal object. I've invited her to have lunch with us to discuss it further."

Viola looked at her daughter.

"How will you get home?"

"Teresa will make sure someone gets me back."

"But I thought you were going with me to the Ladies' Canasta Tournament this afternoon."

"As much as I'll miss that frolic with the girls, I think Teresa can use my help. Can't you?" She sent a pleading look to Teresa to back her up.

"Yes." Teresa said. "And Kimball will be there."

Viola's eye brows shot up. She turned to her daughter and began to brush Capp's hair with her fingers. Capp recoiled.

"Mom, what are you doing?"

"You heard what Teresa said. Kimball will be there." She grasped at her daughter's hair again.

Capp jerked her head back from her mother's fingers.

"I can brush my own hair, Mom." Capp's voice shocked Teresa when it changed from in-control professional to surly teen.

"Well start doing it, young lady."

"Mom, I'm a grown woman."

"Precisely. When you're in the presence of a handsome, smart young man who's not wearing a wedding ring on his finger, you need to look your best. You're not getting any younger, you know."

Viola reached back over to smooth her daughter's hair some more. Once more, Capp jerked her head away from her mother.

"Mom!"

"Cappadocia Grainger, you won't think about your future but I will. You have that job where you sit in some back office all day, never getting out from behind a desk, and you never meet anyone. Then you come here to Cannon River and what happens? You come with _me_ to the police station and here's this nice single man. I think he likes you, Capp."

Capp's face softened as she looked her mother.

"You think so?"

"Yes, I do."

"Does my hair look okay now?"

Viola reached over to brush back a bang from her daughter's face.

"Your hair is fine, Capp. You look beautiful. I'm sorry you'll miss canasta with the girls, but you go with these young folks and have a good time. Be sure to tell Kimball that I enjoyed meeting him."

"I will, Mom. Thank you."

Viola patted Teresa on the arm.

"Teresa, it's always a pleasure to see you. Please take care of my daughter for me, will you?"

"I will, but I think she does fine on her own, ma'am."

Viola spun around and headed out of the building. Before she went through the door, she called to her daughter one more time.

"And it wouldn't hurt to get some dressing on your salad, girl. You're just skin and bones."

Once Viola was gone, Teresa couldn't resist asking Capp a question.

"Your mother thinks you work behind a desk somewhere?"

"I don't want her to worry about me. And the truth is, sometimes I do sit behind a desk - when I'm filling out an expense report."

The two women shared a chuckle.

"Viola is quite a lady."

"She is. Mom is the only person in the world who can make me feel like I'm still fourteen years old."

"She loves you, I can see that."

Capp sighed.

"Like I said earlier, we disagree about a lot of things, but I love her dearly. Everything she did for us, the hardships she went through to raise me - there's no way I can ever repay her. She made me who I am today."

"Shall we go eat? Kimball should have the car pulled around now."

"Let's."

* * *

><p>Have you ever been at lunch with a group of people and felt completely left out? That's how Teresa felt sitting with Capp on her right and her husband on her left. She understood though.<p>

On the other side of Capp sat Kimball, and the two of them retreated to their own world once more. The pair of them amused Teresa, and Kimball amazed her. In all their years working together at CBI, who would have thought Kimball Cho would talk as much as he did at the lunch table today?

Of course the talk to her left centered on the mystery of the drone, and Teresa had gotten used to her husband pursuing a case like a bulldog pursues a bone. Poor Henry had the misfortune to sit on the other side of him.

"…so how many tenants live in the River Manor Apartment Building, Henry?…How many entrances does it have?…Is there a basement?…How long have you and Annabelle lived there?…Have you noticed any other suspicious activity around the building?…Who manages the apartments?"

Rat-a-tat-tat. The questions came at Henry in a continuous stream during lunch. Seeing his distress, Teresa took pity on him and put her hand on her husband's shoulder.

"Arch, let Henry eat his lunch. It's getting cold. So is yours."

"But, Teresa. Somehow that building figures into this. I just know it."

"And it still will after you and Henry finish eating your lunch."

Henry took advantage of the lull in the barrage of questions to shovel a fork-load of French fries into his mouth.

"Thank you, ma'am. You should get the professor to eat some too."

"There's only so much I can do with my husband, but it's still good advice. How 'bout it, Arch?" Taking his fork, Teresa ladled up some boiled spinach and held it in front of his mouth, much like she did with their son Charlie. "Um-um. Open wide!"

"But, Teresa…" Her husband said nothing more. As soon as he opened his mouth, Teresa stuck the fork in. Giving up, he bit down on the spinach. A look of pleasure flowed across his face.

"This is good."

"See, spinach isn't always bad, Archie. You should be more like our son. He knows."

She didn't need to prompt her husband any more. Scoop after scoop of the green mess made its way to his mouth. Her job done, she relaxed.

"You've got your husband trained well, Teresa. Good job, gal!"

Teresa turned back to her right when she heard Capp's throaty voice. It surprised her that she and Kimball had even come up for air, let alone break off their own conversation. Yet they had.

"It's a tough job keeping him in line, but someone's got to do it."

"You must keep him under control like you keep your city under control," said Capp.

Teresa mock-gasped.

"I hope I do a better job with Cannon River than I do with Archie!"

Someone mumbled through a mouthful of food on her left.

"I'm a work-in-progress. My dear wife has the patience of Job and the wisdom of Aesop. Also a Glock in her desk drawer."

* * *

><p>Henry enjoyed lunch with Chief Lisbon, Professor Marbray, and their friends. As much as he liked the professor, he liked Lisbon even more when she made Marbray curtail all the questions about River Manor Apartments. He could at last eat in peace. While he finished his burger and fries, he got a chance to observe the people around the table. When the professor first worked with Henry and the other police officers, he told them to take every advantage to study people with a critical eye. <em>"You can observe a lot by watching"<em> was a Yogi Berra quote that Professor Marbray cited often. Henry took that lesson to heart. What better time to take in the lunch crowd than when he was sucking in a mouthful of chocolate milkshake?

The Three Musketeers weren't a trio so much anymore. Grace Van Pelt and Wayne Rigsby, the married couple, still talked with everyone around the table. But Kimball Cho focused on Capp Grainger and ignored everything and everyone else.

_Cho is like I was when I first met Annabelle._

Capp Grainger focused on Cho too, but she also talked with Chief Lisbon. When they first met, the chief's voice carried a tinge of anger. No surprise there. Grainger refused to let her control their conversation. That never sat well with the chief when she talked with potential suspects. But Lisbon trusted Cho, and when he said that Grainger was okay, that was good enough for her. In the space of an hour, Teresa Lisbon and Capp Grainger had moved from antagonists to budding friends. When Lisbon talked with Ms. Grainger now, her voice carried the same warm tone she used for the Three Musketeers and her husband.

_The chief accepts Ms. Grainger so I will too._

Professor Marbray's fork clattered on his plate as he finished his spinach. Taking his napkin to his face, the professor swiped it across his whiskers. Looking over his way, Henry knew in that in a micro-second the barrage of questions about the apartment building would commence again. That was okay, at least he'd gained enough time to wolf down his lunch.

Of all the people around the table, Henry knew the most about the professor - and the least. He'd worked with him long enough that he anticipated what he'd say, when he'd say it, and how he would say it. Although he'd never be as good as the professor himself, Henry could "read" Marbray enough to work well with him. And it had been a successful partnership for them both.

But Professor Archibald Marbray remained a mystery. Something lurked behind the man's smile. What that something was Henry had no idea, but Lisbon knew. She had no problem with her husband, aside from his being a royal pain-in-the-ass at times, and Henry took his cues from her. If Archibald Marbray was good enough for Teresa Lisbon to marry, then he was good enough for Henry to work with.

_I'll surprise Marbray._

"Professor, you're gonna ask me what I know about the construction of the apartment building, aren't you?"

Success! The professor had opened his mouth to speak, and Henry beat him to the punch. Marbray patted him on the arm.

"How did you know?"

"You can observe a lot by watching." Henry enjoyed being a step ahead of his mentor for once.

* * *

><p><em>After lunch…<em>

Grace sat in the back of Kimball Cho's car while her husband Wayne moved to the front seat. They had just arrived at Capp Grainger's mother's house, and Kimball was escorting Capp to the door. Was "escorting" the right word? Grace and Wayne watched as their old friend and Capp traipsed up the sidewalk to the front porch, their bodies brushing against each other as they walked.

"Have you ever seen…" Grace hesitated as she searched for the right words to describe Kimball's behavior since Capp had showed up.

"Nope. Not ever. This is the most emotion I've seen out of him since I've known him, Grace."

The two of them stared at the scene on the porch.

"Look at that, Wayne. He's put his hand on her arm."

"What are they saying? Can you read their lips?"

"They're too far away."

"I feel like we're invading Kimball's privacy."

"Well, yeah. That's what friends are supposed to do."

"Don't you feel kinda squeamish about watching them like this?"

"No, and you shouldn't either, Wayne. We're just looking out for our friend's best interests." When her husband looked back at her, she flashed a smile. "They make a cute couple, don't they?"

"Yeah, they do. Funny Kimball never said anything to me about Capp."

"He couldn't, could he?" A thought flashed through Grace's mind. "Hey! Do you think Capp had something to do with Kimball being so withdrawn until now?"

"Could be. Regardless, she's shaken him out of his blue mood."

"I'll say." Grace tapped her husband's arm. "Look. He's coming back. Let's shut up."

When Kimball got back in the car, he started it and drove off without a word. The silence was deafening. Finally Grace spoke up.

"So…"

"Yeah," said her husband.

"So what?" Kimball said, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

"So, Capp Grainger seems nice."

"She is. It was good seeing her."

"So, are you gonna see her again?"

Stopped at a traffic light, Kimball shifted around to glare first at Wayne then at Grace.

"What are you, my parents?"

"No, no. Just making an observation, that's all." Wayne glanced back at his wife as he replied to Kimball. The way he furrowed his brow at Grace let her know they should shift the conversation somewhere else - and that Wayne would work on getting details out of Kimball later.

"So what do you guys think of 'Dr. Archibald Marbray, Associate Professor'?" asked Grace.

"I think it's the best long con Jane's ever pulled off." Wayne's words conjured up memories in Grace's mind of schemes he'd cooked up back in their CBI days.

"Yeah, but it works for Teresa and Jane both. They've made a good life here."

"Of course, she still gets mad at him."

"This morning was kinda intense. I didn't know we'd be walking in on one of their arguments."

"I don't think I've seen Teresa that upset, even when Jane buried that murderer alive," said Kimball.

"What made it worse is that it was personal, not professional. Being there was like we were prying into their private life."

"Yeah, and you guys would never do that." Cho glared at the two of them again.

"When they cried, that made me uncomfortable."

"Yeah, but after they made up and Viola supplied the details of what happened, that cast things in a whole new light."

"Teresa and Jane hanging out of a window naked, with a little old lady making notes. There's not enough brain bleach in the world to get rid of that image."

The three of them chuckled.

"I feel more sorry for Teresa than for Jane."

"Agreed. But they love each other, and I'm glad of that."

"Hey, I just noticed. All three of us call her 'Teresa,' but we all still call him 'Jane'. We use 'Archie' in public, but we never use 'Patrick' in private."

"Can you guys ever see us calling him anything other than 'Jane'?

"Nope. Teresa still calls him 'Jane' when he does one of his schemes."

"Which means she still uses 'Jane' a lot."

"But I've heard her use 'Patrick' in private. It's really sweet to hear her say that."

"I'm sure he appreciates it too."

"Actually, I like saying 'Dr. Truth.' It needles him."

"Good information to know."

"I think it's appropriate that the only one of us who calls him 'Patrick' is Teresa. It's fitting."

"Jane wouldn't know what to think if one of _us_ called him 'Patrick'."

They all chuckled again.

"He'd blanch. He couldn't handle it."

Another wave of silence descended over the car until Grace broke it.

"You know what the best part of this trip is?"

"What?"

"The fact that we can all get together for a reunion and relax. We don't have to worry about Jane involving us in some scheme of his."

"Amen to that!"

* * *

><p>To be continued.<p>

* * *

><p>Author's notes:<p>

Cole Porter wrote "You Do Something To Me," and Frank Sinatra recorded my favorite version on the album, _Sinatra's Swingin' Session_.

Up next: "Oh, Lady Be Good!"


	8. Oh, Lady Be Good!

Author's notes:

Thank you to two great writers and friends, **make-mine-a-kiaora** and **Sue Shay**, for their help. Be sure to check out their stories - I have favorited them in my profile for easy access.

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

><p>Chapter 8 - "Oh, Lady Be Good!"<p>

* * *

><p><em>Back at the police station…<em>

After lunch, Henry noticed that the Three Musketeers took Capp Grainger home. He guessed that Kimball wanted Wayne and Grace along about as much as a high school prom couple wanted a chaperone, but that's just the way it was. It was hardly his problem though, he had his hands full with his two bosses.

Professor Marbray had that glint in his eyes - the one that signaled he was onto a hunch. If Henry had any doubts about how serious the professor's hunch was, Chief Lisbon dispelled them. The professor's furrowed brow had captured her attention as well. She knew he was onto something, and that well-honed teamwork between the two surfaced.

_Maybe I should say the well-honed teamwork between the three of us!_

Back at the police station, Professor Marbray focused his thoughts - and Chief Lisbon and Henry's - on the River Manor Apartment building once more.

"How old is the building, Henry?"

"It's older than me, at least thirty years."

"Who built it?"

"Some old guy. Ahm, ahm…"

"Is he still alive?"

"No, he died. Recently too." Like many other times, Henry wished he had a smidgen of the mental recall that the professor had. He'd heard Lisbon once call Marbray's ability his "memory palace." Palace was the right word; given time to reflect, Henry figured the professor could remember what he ate for lunch twenty years ago. In a flash, the name came to him. "Fitzgerald Cummings. That's the guy."

"You say he died recently, Henry?" Until now, Chief Lisbon stood quietly beside the two men.

"Yes, ma'am. I think he had a heart attack."

"Did Doc Bee do an autopsy?"

"No, ma'am. Cummings died while he was out of town. In New York, I think. It was about a year ago. He was getting on up in years anyway."

Lisbon looked at Marbray.

"I'm gonna look up about Fitzgerald Cummings' death."

"Good, Teresa." Marbray looked from her back to Henry. "Does he have any relatives here in town?"

"That I don't know. He lived at River Manor Apartments by himself."

Marbray looked back at Lisbon.

"Teresa, did you subscribe to that genealogical database for the department?"

"I did, Arch."

"While you and Henry find out what you can about Fitzgerald Cummings and about the building, I'm gonna sniff out what I can in his family tree."

While Henry and Chief Lisbon were looking up information about Fitzgerald Cummings and the River Manor Apartments, the Three Musketeers reappeared in the chief's office.

"Oh, good. You're back. Why don't you help Teresa and Henry with their research." Marbray scarcely looked up at the trio and only to involve them.

"Certainly, Arch. It's not like we're on vacation or anything like that." Wayne answered the professor with a snarl.

"Good. I mean, _thank you for your help_. See, I am trying to get better."

"Must be baby steps you're taking then," said Grace as she and Wayne started looking through a folder that Chief Lisbon handed to them.

In a few minutes, Professor Marbray looked up from the computer he was using.

"Someone needs to go over to the River Manor Apartments in disguise to nose around the place."

Henry shook his head.

"Half the police force lives in the building, and the new apartment manager, Owen Myer, knows everybody in town anyway. He'd recognize any of us."

Marbray scratched his chin.

"We need someone else then. Besides, it'd be good to have new eyes looking at the building." The professor got up from his chair and paced around the room. When he got even with the Rigsbys, he stopped. "You know what? A youngish couple saying that they're moving into town would do the trick. Especially if both had experience undercover and the skills to observe things." Marbray looked at Wayne and Grace as he held his hands up like a camera frame.

Grace slapped the file folder she was holding down on the table.

"Absolutely not! We came here on vacation. We said we'd help you guys move in, but other than that we came to relax."

"Perfect, Grace! What could be more relaxing than a little sleuthing to complement the fine job you've done helping us move?"

"No!" said Wayne.

"But the two of you are so good at something like this. Teresa always relied on you to do stuff like this at CBI." Marbray glanced at Henry. "Uh, so I heard anyway."

"Ja-ur-Archie!" Grace glanced over at Henry too then resumed. "Get someone else. You've already dragooned us into wading through these folders."

Marbray looked over at Lisbon.

"Teresa, help me out. Don't you think Wayne and Grace would be perfect for sniffing out something about the building?"

Lisbon turned to her friends.

"Archie's right. I know we're imposing on you, but would you do this for us, please? As a personal favor to me if not to him?"

Wayne and Grace's stern expressions melted before Henry's eyes. He heard them hem and haw as they looked at each other. It was clear that Marbray knew he'd won when the chief applied pressure on their friends. Grace cleared her throat to speak for them both.

"All right. One time only. If Dr. Truth asks us to do anything else, we'll start charging our standard client rate."

"Actually, we'll charge our hazardous duty rate for anything he cooks up," Wayne said.

Grace scrunched up her nose.

"We have a hazardous duty rate?"

"We do now, Grace."

Chief Lisbon went over to the doorway of her office and stuck out her head.

"Officer Hinks, would you step in here a minute please?"

In an instant, Michaela Hinks appeared at the door.

"Yes, ma'am."

Lisbon pointed to the Rigsbys.

"Our friends Wayne and Grace are going to do an undercover assignment for us. They'll be posing as potential tenants at River Manor Apartments."

"Oh, I live there! It's a great place except the air system has been messed up lately."

"We need you to outfit the Rigsbys in something other than how they're dressed now."

"Why, Teresa?" asked Grace.

"Because the two of you look like classic suburbanites nowadays. We don't need you raising eyebrows." Lisbon looked back over to Michaela. "See what you've got in the storage room that they can wear."

Michaela raised her eyebrows.

"I'll try to come up with something that'll work for them, ma'am. It'll be a challenge."

"I know you'll find something, Michaela." She patted her officer on the arm, which prompted Michaela to brighten.

The officer waved for the Rigsbys to follow her.

"Let's go see what we can do."

Wayne and Grace both thrust their file folders into Kimball's hands and left.

"Thanks a lot, guys," said Kimball.

"Okay, now that that's taken care of, let's all get back to work." The professor rubbed his hands together with that _I'm-on-a-hot-case_ grin. Sighing, Henry went back to his database.

Twenty minutes later a voice at the doorway drew everyone's attention from their work. Michaela was back.

"Chief, there's a couple here to see you by the name of Jim-Bob and Bodette."

She withdrew, and two oddly-familiar yet just-plain-odd people walked in. The woman was a gum-smacking blond with streaked curls that exploded out in all directions from her head. The man, wearing a _Twisted Sister_ t-shirt, sported a mullet that had taken on a life of its own as it curved back behind his neck.

_Snap! Snap! Snap!_

Kimball's phone camera clicked three times.

Marbray leaned over to Kimball.

"Are you sure you got a good shot of them?"

"Why do you think I took three pictures? I want to remember this moment forever." Kimball turned to Wayne and Grace. "Hey, guys. The 1980s called and wants its hair back."

"Shut up, Cho," said Wayne.

Grace grimaced.

"Teresa, it's been years, ever since CBI, that we've done something like this."

"But you two are naturals, Grace. All I'm asking is for you just to nose around, look for anything that strikes you as odd."

Wayne groaned.

"Even if Officer Hinks transformed us into a modern day hair-band groupie and roadie, we're still gonna drive up to the apartment in a minivan. Is that the right image?"

"You're right." Walking over to her desk, Chief Lisbon pulled out a set of car keys from a drawer and tossed them to Wayne. "What if you guys roll up to the front door driving a black mint-condition 1966 Pontiac GTO?"

"Really, Teresa? That's a classic muscle car! How'd you come across one?"

"Police property. It came through forfeiture law. We've kept it for some special occasion, and I guess this qualifies. It's parked in the rear lot, gassed up and ready to go."

"Thanks, Teresa! This almost makes up for going on this undercover assignment. Come on, Grace. Let's check it out." Wayne tugged Grace's sleeve as she rolled her eyes.

* * *

><p>Since Capp Grainger had come back into his life that morning, Kimball Cho had only a halting connection to what was going on around him. Capp's blue eyes, <em>those eyes<em>, banished all other thoughts from his mind. As Wayne and Grace exited the office, he looked down at the file folders in his hands.

_What the hell are these things again? Oh yeah, something to do with the apartment complex across from Viola's house. Where I dropped off Capp. Where those blue eyes are._

"Kimball. Kimball? Cho!"

He looked up to see Teresa staring at him. She was standing beside Henry, and her husband was behind the computer on her desk, but they all were looking at him.

"Uh, yeah. I haven't found anything yet."

Teresa glanced at Jane or Archie or Professor Marbray or _whatever the hell they were supposed to call him in front of Henry_. Her husband looked back at her, and they both had those same _"Isn't Kimball sweet?"_ expressions on their faces that Wayne and Grace had when he drove Capp home. They made him sick. Couldn't they mind their own business?

Jane spoke up.

"I hit pay dirt with your geneology database, Teresa. Cummings has a daughter living here in Cannon River. Employed at Deverell College of all places."

"Great. We'll go talk to her."

Kimball watched as Teresa circled around the desk to look over Jane's shoulder. She got that smile of triumph on her face like she used to get at CBI when her team got a break in a case. As soon as she took a glance at the screen though, she recoiled like the pungent odor of a dead body had flooded the room. The smile flipped to a grimace.

"No. It can't be."

"It is. I'm glad you're going with me to talk to her."

Teresa took a step away from Jane as she held up her hands in a defensive posture.

"Oh, no. I'm not going with you." Twisting her head around to Henry, she addressed her officer. "Henry, you go with my husband and I'll stay here."

Kimball could see Henry hesitate before he replied. _Smart kid_ Kimball thought as he watched the young man walk behind the desk too.

"Who is it, ma'am?" Obviously he'd been working with Teresa and Jane long enough to develop that sixth sense you needed when the two of them went off on some tangent.

"It's not so bad, Henry. It's someone we all know." Jane thumped the computer screen for Henry to look at it.

The young man bent his head over to focus on the screen. The color drained from his face as he turned back to Teresa.

"No, Chief, please. No. Don't make me do that."

"But Henry, it's not so bad. Besides, I've got to be working on the monthly report to the mayor."

Monthly report to the mayor? Teresa had been hanging around Jane for too many years now. That was the weakest - and worst - excuse Cho had ever heard come out of her mouth.

"Ma'am, please?"

"It's not so bad, Henry."

"Don't you have something like a car accident over on the Interstate that you need someone to work?"

"Henry."

"What about that burglary over at the elementary school?"

"Henry."

"A homicide, any homicide? Please. I'm begging you. I have to see her all the time over at Deverall, and it's bad enough that she associates me with your husband." Henry choked on his words as he turned to Jane. "Uh, sorry, Professor. I meant no offense. But you know what I mean though, don't you?"

Jane put his hand on the young man's shoulder.

"No offense taken. I understand, Henry." Jane looked back to Teresa.

She knotted her eye brows.

"Don't you look at me."

"But she won't talk to me."

"That's your own fault. Well, half your fault anyway."

"Half, Teresa?"

"All right, mostly it's her fault because she's crazy, but you egg her on. That's one of the most irresponsible things I've ever seen you do, and remember that I've seen you do some really irresponsible stuff over the years."

"I can't go see her alone. I need someone with me, someone who's an authority figure to get her to answer some questions about her father."

Slowly Teresa, Jane, and Henry shifted their gaze from each other over to Kimball. An old familiar churning started in his stomach, one he hadn't felt since his days at CBI. Jane smiled at him. The churning in his stomach threatened to explode into his chest. Kimball knew he needed to speak up.

"Hey, I'm on vacation."

"Well, so are Wayne and Grace, but you saw them volunteer to help us out here."

"Volunteer? You dragooned them into dressing up like they were going out to trick-or-treat at Halloween. They didn't ask to do that."

Jane waved his hand in the air.

"Small point."

"Not for them, it wasn't."

"They'll be fine. And you'll be fine too. You don't even have to dress up like they did. All you have to do is come with me to Deverell College for a short interview with the Music History professor. Her name is Isadore Totty. Just bring along that stone-cold Kimball Cho stare of yours. Like the one you're giving me now."

"If your wife won't go and Henry won't go, that's a pretty good sign of trouble."

Henry spoke.

"If you go with the professor, maybe she won't throw as much of a fit since you would be new to her."

Teresa perked up.

"Yeah, Henry's right. Isadore would be on her best behavior with you. Probably."

"Hopefully," said Henry.

"Possibly," said Jane.

Kimball felt the acid coursing back-and-forth across his stomach.

"Why can't J-er-Archie go alone?"

"Because we need information, and she won't talk to me."

Teresa looked at Kimball with pleading eyes.

"Won't you help us, Kimball? Please?"

He rapped his knuckle across the table in front of him.

"I'm like Wayne and Grace. I'll do it for you, Teresa." He glared at Jane. "You're gonna be on your best behavior, right, _Dr. Truth_?"

"My very best."

Kimball sighed.

"Why do I have my doubts?" He motioned to Jane. "Come on, let's go before I change my mind."

Twenty minutes later at Deverell College the two men were walking down a hallway of faculty offices.

"I still have a hard time seeing you as a college professor, Jane."

"Really? I think I've fit in pretty well. Well enough to get the Professor-of-the-Year award."

"What that shows is you're still good at a long con, _Dr. Truth_."

"You like that 'Dr. Truth' nickname, don't you?"

"It's the irony, Jane, the irony."

The two men came to a stop in front of a partially-open door. The nameplate above read, "Dr. Isadore Totty, Professor of Music History." Knocking lightly on the door, Jane pushed it further open so Kimball ended up entering before him. A quick scan of the room revealed a cramped office with a piano in one corner, stacks of books piled askew on a bookcase in another corner, and a credenza that sported a line of plaster sculptures in the form of busts. Kimball recognized the classic scowl of Beethoven right off the bat so he guessed the rest were other music composers. A closer look confirmed that. The one on the end labeled "Vivaldi" had a piece of masking tape holding its left ear in place, and one near the middle labeled "Handel" had lost its chin.

A woman in her fifties with graying hair looked up from some sheet music spread out across her desk. Seeing Kimball, she smiled at him with a warmth that belied the image that Teresa and Jane had conjured up. She rose from her chair and extended her hand in greeting.

"Good afternoon, please come in. How may I help…" At that moment she saw Jane amble in behind Kimball. Both the color and the smile drained from her face. "What is that vile presence doing stepping into my office? Sir, please tell that cur behind you to leave at once."

"Good afternoon to you too, Isadore." Jane refused to be cowed by Totty's venom. "This is Kimball Cho. We wanted to ask you a few questions about your father. Kimball is an FBI agent. He's got a badge and everything."

Totty focused on Kimball again.

"You're an FBI agent. Really?"

"Yes, ma'am, I am. But I'm here on a local matter about…"

Totty pointed her long bony finger, shaking with rage, at Jane.

"Good, Agent Cho. I want you to arrest this man."

"Why, Professor Totty?"

"Because he's an imposter."

* * *

><p>To be continued.<p>

* * *

><p>Author's notes:<p>

George and Ira Gershwin wrote "Oh, Lady Be Good!" in 1924. Fred Astaire recorded my favorite version for his album, _Astaire Story_.

Up next: "I'll Be Hard To Handle"


	9. I'll Be Hard To Handle

Author's notes:

Thank you to two great writers and friends, **make-mine-a-kiaora** and **Sue Shay**, for their help. Be sure to check out their stories - I have favorited them in my profile for easy access.

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

><p>Chapter 9 - "I'll Be Hard To Handle"<p>

* * *

><p>Kimball Cho stood speechless as his career and Jane's freedom flashed in front of his eyes.<p>

_What the hell is going on here? How did this woman know?_

Kimball looked over at Jane, whose shrug of his shoulders gave him scant comfort.

"Ma'am, what did you say?"

The bony finger shook at Jane again.

"I want you to arrest Archibald Marbray. Take him away. Let him rot in a jail cell for all I care. Just haul him off, away from Deverell College."

"Why? I need some specifics."

Totty heaved out a big sigh, resignation etched across her face.

"Because he and all of his ilk are imposters."

"All of his ilk, ma'am?" Confusion seized Kimball. Did she associate Jane with psychics? With his old carny cronies?

"Yes. All of these so-called social scientists. Pearl Swanlund, Fremont Rivas, Gunilla Voss. Every last one of them. None of them deserve a place in academe. But most of all Archie Marbray."

When Totty said the word "academe," the "ac" part sounded like she was gargling her throat.

"Social scientists, ma'am?"

He saw Jane screw up his face in a close approximate of the woman's pinched expression. Then he mouthed out verbatim the next words that came from Totty.

"The social sciences are no part of academe. They're the last refuge of third-rate entertainers."

"Ahh, Isadore, you still know how to deliver that line with elan. Don't you ever change on us." Jane shifted his gaze from Totty to Kimball. "Swanlund, Rivas, and Voss, my fellow miscreants, are other professors here at Deverell who don't pass muster for Isadore."

Jane's grin made her bony finger arise yet again. It trembled with rage.

"Look, I know you can't arrest all of them, Agent Cho, but please at least start with this charlatan here. He's the worst."

Kimball breathed a silent sigh of relief. Isadore Totty was merely crazy, and for that he was thankful.

"I take it you're not enamored of Professor Marbray."

"That would be an understatement. This knave is egregious."

"Egregious! Oh, Isadore, you've been reading your dictionary again, haven't you?"

Totty's facial muscles twitched as her lips formed into a sneer.

"That's more than I can say for you, Marbray. Some of your ilk at least make a passing attempt at scholarship, no matter how ephemeral the result. You on the other hand get your lecture notes from Wikipedia three minutes before the start of class. Then you show up in class to drivel out meaningless pellets of pop culture trivia like a soda machine spews out an empty stream of flavor-tinged water."

"Isadore, I resent that." Instead of a sneer, Jane responded with a smirk. "You know good and well I spend at least _five_ minutes before class on Wikipedia. Give credit where credit's due, woman."

Isadore grabbed the bust of a composer off her credenza. She stretched her arm into a throwing stance that made Jane duck.

Kimball decided he'd had enough of this b.s. He reached over and took the composer from her hands. Inscribed across the base was the name "Schubert."

"Ma'am, I have to ask you to calm down." Totty glanced from him over to Jane and back to him. She raised her eyebrows for Kimball to respond. "…And I ask Professor Marbray to control his tongue."

"You don't understand, Agent Cho. This man is an ass."

"You'd be surprised how much sympathy I have with you, ma'am, but…"

Totty switched her gaze from Kimball to Jane and a barrage of hate erupted again.

"I deserved that Leithead Foundation Award. You didn't."

"It's funny that the selection committee didn't feel the same way."

"My work on Beethoven's Grand Fugue in B-flat Major for String Quartet was a ground-breaking look at his greatest achievement."

"Well the Grand Fugue is good, but I thought the pinnacle of his work was the Second Movement of his Seventh Symphony."

Totty's jaw dropped. Clearly she hadn't expected that to come out of Jane's mouth. After a moment, her haughtiness returned to her eyes.

"Second Movement of the Seventh Symphony. Humph! Well that's the obvious answer, isn't it? What the unschooled rabble would say."

Totty let herself relax. In a few moments, Kimball handed Schubert back to her.

"As you can see, Agent Cho, I'm passionate about academe." Her gargling noise sounded again on "academe."

"Yes, ma'am. We're here, um, I'm here on behalf of Police Chief Teresa Lisbon to ask you a few questions about an investigation. It concerns the River Manor Apartments…"

Totty's face brightened.

"Oh, Teresa Lisbon. Why didn't you say so? I think the world of her."

"That's good to know, ma'am. Anyway, Chief Lisbon is investigating…"

"The only thing I can't figure out about Teresa is why she would ever marry someone like this mountebank." The wagging finger reappeared, shaking at Jane. "She's a saint to put up with him."

That got a reaction from Jane. Not a sneer, not a smirk, but a smile.

"Isadore, I'm glad to hear you say that. That's something you and I do agree on. Teresa is a saint, and I count my blessings every day that she's in my life."

"You almost sound like a human being, Marbray."

"Coming from you, I'll take that as a compliment."

Totty motioned for the two men to take a seat in the guest chairs in her office before she replied.

"My only problem with your wife is that she kept you on the city payroll after you married. That smacks of cronyism."

"Isadore…"

"My name is 'Professor Totty' to you if you persist in trying to speak to me."

"As I was saying, _Isadore_, you'll be pleased to know that when Teresa and I married I switched to working _pro bono_ for the police department."

"_Pro bono_?"

"Yes, _pro bono_ means 'for the public good,' so there'll be no more of your local tax dollars going to fund my nefarious shenanigans."

"I know what _pro bono_ means, you dolt."

"Well then why did you ask?"

"I didn't ask."

"Yes, you did."

Totty reached back towards her row of statues, picked one up, and stretched her arm into throwing position again.

Kimball whistled to get their attention.

"You two knock it off. J-ur-Marbray, shut up. Professor Totty, please set down Tchaikovsky."

Her hand wavered a minute. With a deep breath, Totty lowered the statue back down to the credenza.

"Agent Cho, you said you had some questions about an investigation that Teresa was doing?"

"Yes, ma'am. It has to do with the River Manor Apartments. I understand that the builder, Fitzgerald Cummings, was your father. Is that correct?"

"Yes, he was my Daddy."

"And he built the apartment complex?" Kimball asked.

"Yes, he did. Built it and owned it. Daddy also lived there until he died last year." Totty's face drooped when she said that. Kimball didn't need Jane's powers of observation to see the sorrow in eyes.

"About your father dying. Was that unexpected?" asked Jane.

Totty turned and glared at Jane. She started to reach back for a statue.

"Stop it! J-ur-Marbray asked a legitimate question. Ma'am, I can see your father's passing hurt you very much."

"It did. Oh, it did, Agent Cho." She shook her head. "Daddy was in his eighties of course, and he'd had a heart condition. But the last year of his life he had rebounded so much. His health had improved. He'd become more active. In fact, he passed away while he was at a convention in New York City."

Kimball saw Jane crook his eyebrow, and his own instinct perked up as well.

"What caused Mr. Cummings' death, ma'am?"

"The coroner in New York City told the family that he had a heart attack."

"And you said he had suffered from a heart ailment."

"Yes, he had. But he'd made so much headway in the year before he died. In fact, his doctor here had cleared him to go to New York. He told Daddy that he wished he himself was in that good a shape."

"Did you tell the coroner in New York that?"

"Yes, I did. But he said that with my father's health history and age, that wasn't unexpected."

"What was the convention he went to, Isadore?" asked Jane.

While talking about her father, Totty forgot about her distaste for talking with Jane, if only for a moment.

"It was a collector's convention. Old vinyl records. They were his passion."

"Vinyl records?"

Now Isadore Totty got to smirk at Jane.

"Yes, Marbray. Vinyl records. They're thin, circular objects. They spin round-and-round on a turntable. People have put music recordings on them for over a hundred years. Sometime when you're getting ready for class on Wikipedia you should look it up."

Kimball could see Totty trying to bait Jane, but he ignored the insult.

"Your father collected records, Isadore?"

"He did and played them all his life. He had all kinds of vinyls - 33 rpm, 45 rpm, and 78 rpm. The 78s were his favorites though."

"78s?" asked Kimball.

"Yes, Agent Cho. They were an older media than the 33 rpms we still see today. Of course, they revolved at 78 revolutions per minute on the turntable instead of 33 revolutions." She reached into a desk drawer to pull out a small-sized vinyl disc. "Here's one. You can see it's smaller than the 33s."

Holding the disc by its edges, she handed it over to Kimball. He and Jane looked at it closely.

"If it's smaller than a 33rpm and revolves faster, it doesn't hold as much music on it, does it?" asked Jane.

"No shi…nola, Sherlock." Totty caught herself. "78s had room enough for only one song on a side."

"How long were they used?"

"The commercial market for 78s went from the 1920s up through the 1950s. When 33s and 45s came along, they quickly replaced 78s."

"People wanted more music on a disc."

"Precisely. Although record companies had gotten creative with how they used 78s." Isadore swiveled to her left and reached back in her desk drawer to produce a small stack of 78rpm records. They were sheathed in paper sleeves. "All of these 78s together contain one Mozart symphony on them."

Kimball lifted up the disc on top and studied it.

"How did that work?"

"To hear a whole symphony like that meant constantly changing from one disc to the next. Not like with our downloads and CDs today."

Kimball glanced at Jane, and he could see him ponder the situation. The expression on Jane's face reminded him of when they had worked together at CBI so long ago.

"Did your father have a lot of these?"

"Yes, he did. He played them all the time. About three years ago he gave me all his classical 78s because he knew I studied them."

"You kept them?"

"Yes, here in the office."

Totty swiveled around in her chair. Sitting next to her credenza on the floor was a vault. She lifted _up_ the door on the front. Kimball noted how its hinges sat atop the door frame, not along the side like a normal door. Totty pushed the door up until it rested wide open.

Inside the vault Totty had stacked scores of discs. All were 78s like the ones she had shown Kimball and Jane. Out of the corner of his eye, Kimball saw Jane rise from his seat to look closer at Totty's trove. As he stuck out his hand to toward the vault, Totty reached over to slap it.

"No! Get away from my 78s."

"But Isadore, I just wanted to…"

"I should have just kept my mouth shut and let you try to get in the vault," she said.

That got Kimball's attention.

"What do you mean by that, ma'am?"

He noted that Jane had wisely retracted his hand. For once he'd actually shown some restraint.

Totty swiveled around to face Kimball.

"My Daddy was an engineer by training. He designed this vault for me. It keeps out unwanted fingers."

"How's that?"

"Allow _me_ to demonstrate. By the way, the only reason I didn't let Marbray go ahead and try is that I wanted to avoid a lawsuit. Well, that and I respect his wife too. I know she has enough trouble dealing with him as is."

"Thanks, I guess," said Jane.

Totty swiveled to face Jane.

"Yes, you should thank me." She swiveled back to face the vault again. Kimball began to wonder if all this swiveling in her chair had something to do with Totty's volatile nature.

"If you don't approach the vault the right way, this happens."

Totty stuck her hand through the doorway of the vault at an odd angle but jerked it back out. In a flash, the door whipped around on its hinges. It slammed shut with a thunderclap of noise. Kimball and Jane both recoiled by reflex. Totty swiveled around to the men with a look of triumph.

"That's quite impressive, Isadore," said Jane.

"Daddy did that especially for me. No one's ever taken anything from it."

"I can understand, ma'am. Now as I was saying…" Kimball didn't get to complete his sentence. Jane interrupted. Some things never changed.

"Isadore, did you say your father only gave you part of his collection?"

"Yes. Daddy kept the bulk of the 78s. He loved playing them - jazz, early country music, and especially pop standards. Over the years they became quite valuable. Daddy told the family that he wanted to donate them to Deverell College when he died."

"Did he?" asked Jane.

"He wrote that into his will. However, we never found them. Either he had sold them off over the years or he kept them someplace out of sight."

"You said they had become valuable."

"They had. That makes me think he hadn't sold them off. If he had, he would have told us."

"Were you familiar with any of the titles he had?"

"Some but not all. He was tight-lipped about them, even with his own family. On occasion though I heard him playing the records and saw them on the turntable when I visited him. I knew enough to know they were worth a lot."

"What did you see?"

"Like I say, a wide variety of music. Fred Astaire, Benny Goodman, Louis Armstrong. Once I even heard him playing a Perk Perez record. It was 'This Can't Be Love,' a Rogers and Hart song. He told me he had other 78s of her as well."

"Perk Perez? I've heard of the other people you named but not her."

"Look her up on Wikipedia sometime, Marbray. Daddy wrote most of the entry for her."

"I will. In the meantime, why don't you fill in Agent Cho and myself on her."

"So you're open to learning something? Something worthwhile?"

Had some of Jane rubbed off on Kimball over the years? He felt that same sense that Jane obviously had that something was amiss about Cummings and the records. He motioned for Jane to continue with his line of questions as long as Totty stayed under control.

"I am, Isadore. Please continue."

"Perk Perez was a young singer in the 1930s. She sang with a number of big band orchestras of the era, and she was on the verge of becoming a big star like Bing Crosby or Frank Sinatra."

"What happened?"

"Sadly, she died far too young in a train wreck in Iowa. She was on the way to perform a concert in Des Moines."

"What makes her records so valuable?"

"Scarcity and talent. Because she was just starting out, her record label didn't produce as many 78s for her as they did for established acts. If she'd lived, that would have changed. Newspapers of the era said she had 'the voice of a nightingale.'"

"So your father had some of her records."

"Yes. How many I don't know. And I always wondered if he had her recording of 'Cheerful Little Earful.' Other people wondered too."

"Why that one?"

Totty swiveled to her computer. With a few mouse clicks, she brought up a website of news articles on the screen. The title that grabbed Kimball's attention was in the largest font size - _"Does the Perez 'Cheerful Little Earful' still exist?"_

"Collectors regard her recording of 'Cheerful Little Earful' as the Holy Grail of 78s. If one still existed, it could fetch upward of six figures at auction."

"What makes it so valuable?"

Totty scowled at Jane before she replied.

"Three reasons. First, like I said they didn't press many copies of any of her records. Second, 'Cheerful Little Earful' was an obscure song, even in the 1930's. Third, the lyricist on the song was Ira Gershwin."

"Ira Gershwin?"

"Yes. George Gershwin, his brother, is better known. Yet Ira served as his lyricist for his most famous pop standards. Songs like 'They Can't Take That Away From Me' and 'Fascinating Rhythm'."

"So George composed 'Cheerful Little Earful' with Ira?"

"No, but that's what adds novelty to the recording. Ira didn't work with his brother on that song. Instead he wrote it with Harry Warren and Billy Rose."

"So, lots of collectors would be interested in that 78 if any still existed."

"Precisely. And they're a ferocious breed, let me tell you. Some of them will gladly slit your throat for an early Louis Armstrong or Benny Goodman 78." Totty stopped a moment to regard Jane. "Too bad you're not in among those vermin."

"You can't have everything you wish for, Isadore."

Totty turned her scrunched-up gaze from Jane back to Kimball, something that made Kimball's skin crawl.

"Agent Cho, do you think Chief Lisbon can find out what happened?"

"We'll tell her what you've told us." Kimball desperately wanted her to refocus on Jane and off him. "By the way, ma'am, the reason we even came to talk to you today is because Professor Marbray here made the connection between your father and a current case that Chief Lisbon is working on."

That was the wrong thing to say. Totty's face knotted into a snarl like a grizzly bear ready to swipe its paw at a hiker.

"This scoundrel is incapable of anything except causing trouble. Do you know what happened at the faculty meeting this week?"

"No, ma'am, but…"

"I'll tell you what happened. I unveiled, all modestly aside for a moment, my groundbreaking proposal to reconceptualize intructional work load dynamics across academe. Yes, I know what you're thinking. How did she have time to do that? What with my groundbreaking work on Beethoven string quartets. The answer is simple - some of us are gifted. What I propose is nothing less than the wholesale reconsideration of the role a faculty member plays in…"

As Totty talked, Cho felt his eyelids weigh down.

"…of course it is vital to recognize the subtle conceptual distinctions between the reference points during the calendar year that create an interplay of…"

Cho was having a hard time focusing.

"…among the factors that I covered then rejected as irrelevant were accumulated enrollments, the ratio of 400-level to 100-level course listings, the percentage of repeat…"

Cho couldn't even stay awake by biting down on his lip.

"…and then boom!"

Cho roused himself when Totty clapped her hands together. He noted that Jane shifted awake in his chair too.

"Ma'am?"

"Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong. I was just getting to the heart of my proposal when that infernal chiming sounded."

"Chiming, ma'am?"

"A wind-up alarm clock that this human hyena sitting next to you slipped in my briefcase. It was set to ring 73 minutes after I started talking. What does that sound like to you?"

"It sounds like Professor Marbray set it 72 minutes too late."

When the words left Cho's mouth, he froze. Jane froze. Totty froze.

The bony finger rose like a serpent out of the murky depths. This time it didn't point at Jane. Instead it shook in a frenzy at Cho himself.

"You're no better than him."

"No, I am better than Marbray. I don't have to hear you drone on every week."

_Where did that come from?_

Cho glanced at Jane. His mouth agape, he beamed broadly at Cho.

"That was incredible!" said Jane.

A scuffing noise got Cho's attention. Turning back to Totty, he saw her reaching back to her credenza to pick up a statue. By reflex, Cho ducked but Jane held up his hands to stop Totty.

"Isadore! Wait! Don't throw Beethoven."

Isadore nodded, swiveled, and set Beethoven down to grab another statue. Jane clasped Cho's arm and dragged him out the door. A biege-colored blur whizzed over their heads.

_Crash_.

The statue slammed against the far wall in the hallway. The composer's left ear flew off and bounced against Cho's elbow. What was left of the statue minus its right eye brow rolled across the floor until Jane stopped it face-up with his foot.

Jane looked from the statue to Cho. "Poor Schubert. He didn't deserve that." Then he leaned over to the doorway. "Always a pleasure to see you, Isadore." He turned back to Cho and tugged his sleeve. "Let's skeddadle before she reloads with Bartok."

The two men ran down the hall until they stopped in front of the office of "Associate Professor Archibald Marbray." Before taking out his key to open the door, Jane patted Cho on the shoulder.

"Kimball Cho, you're my hero."

"Shut up and open the door, Jane, before she hunts us down."

* * *

><p>Kimball Cho had never been much for self-reflection, but what happened down the hallway baffled him. Why had he said what he did to Totty? In the past, he'd always been the master of his tongue, no matter what he really wanted to say. Yet he had insulted Isadore Totty to the point where she attacked him.<p>

_I just couldn't put up with all her b.s. I rather be spending time with Capp instead of listening to some blowhard like that._

And that was it. All of a sudden he didn't have the patience to put up with the Isadores of the world. His thoughts resided with a pair of bright blue eyes he'd missed since the night they parted.

"You're thinking about Capp Grainger, aren't you?"

Kimball focused on Jane, who was sitting behind the desk in his office playing Youtube videos - and looking up entries on Wikipedia.

"No _shinola_, Sherlock." Kimball didn't want Jane to interrogate him about Capp; it was bad enough that Wayne and Grace were going to torture him for details. Time to change the subject. "What have you found out?"

"Well, thanks to Isadore, I've gotten an education on pop standards, crooners, and the market for old vinyl records. His fellow enthusiasts regarded Isadore's father as a leading collector. He was even rumored to have a copy of the Perk Perez 'Cheerful Little Earful'."

"Do you think Cummings and his records have anything to do with the drone?"

"I don't know. What do you think, Kimball?"

"Something doesn't smell right."

"I agree. Let's check in with Teresa."

Jane dialed Teresa's office phone, put her on speaker phone, and briefed her on what they found. She put her phone on speaker as well. While they were talking, Teresa sent Henry over to the courthouse to get Cummings' real estate records. When Jane finished his report, Teresa directed a question to Kimball.

"_How did Jane do with Isadore?"_

"He survived. We both survived. Let's leave it at that, Teresa."

Kimball heard Lisbon chuckling in the background. Then he heard rustling on the other end of the line followed by two familiar voices.

"_Our undercover team is back, gentlemen,"_ said Teresa.

"Hey, Jim-Bob. What did you and Bodette find out?"

"_That Pontiac GTO is one sweet ride, Kimball. Maybe Teresa will let you and me take it for a test run when this is all wrapped up,"_ said Wayne.

"_Focus, Wayne, focus,"_ said Grace.

"_Uh, yeah. That Owen Myer guy has to be the least sales-oriented apartment manager I've ever seen. It was like we were an inconvenience."_

Grace took over the conversation at that point.

"_Wayne's right. Myer couldn't have cared less about us. That's different from any apartment manager I've ever dealt with. If they have anything below full occupancy, they hound you to sign a lease. Something was distracting him."_

"Maybe it was the mullet," Kimball said.

"_Shut up, Cho,"_ said Wayne.

"What was your impression about the building, Wayne?" asked Jane.

Kimball recalled that Wayne knew a lot about buildings from his time as an arson investigator.

"_That place was built like a fortress on top of a rock."_

The five of them continued to trade information and ideas back-and-forth, just like in the old days at CBI. After a few minutes, Teresa summed things up for them.

"_We need to get that drone to move things forward."_

"What reason will you give to capture it?" asked Kimball.

"_Henry and Annabelle aren't the only residents of the River Manor Apartments to complain about it. I interviewed four others this afternoon who said they found it outside their windows. Two said they saw it on multiple occasions_," said Teresa. "_They claim it's invading their privacy."_

"Like a stalker?" asked Jane.

_"Exactly. After we get off the phone, I'm calling the mayor to make sure he's on board with the idea."_

"Good plan, Teresa," said Jane.

After bidding everyone on the phone goodbye, Kimball and Jane snuck back into the hallway, checking to see if Isadore had gone home. She had. As they made their way to the building entrance, Jane stopped them both. Beside them was a door with the sign "Drama Department Storage Room."

"Let's stop in here a minute, Kimball."

Inside the cramped room Kimball saw everything from costumes to power tools to stage props. Jane busied himself in one corner, sifting through a box with a cowboy hat, a chef's apron, and a rubber sword in a scabbard. A look of triumph appeared across Jane's face as he pulled the last object out of the box. He swished it around.

"Success! I thought I remembered that they had one of these."

Kimball stared at what Jane held.

"Did the Drama Department stage _Moby Dick_?"

"Close. _The Old Man and the Sea_."

* * *

><p>Wayne and Grace had gone home, and Teresa finished putting her plan of action in place. As she gathered her equipment together, she smiled as an idea formed in her mind. Dialing her phone, a now-familiar voice greeted her with "Hello."<p>

"Hey, Capp. This is Teresa. How would you like to go drone-hunting tonight?"

* * *

><p>To be continued.<p>

* * *

><p>Author's notes:<p>

Jerome Kern and Bernard Dougall wrote "I'll Be Hard To Handle" in 1932, and my favorite version is Ella Fitzgerald's on her album, _Ella Fitzgerald Sings the Jerome Kern Songbook_.

"Perk Perez" is a fictional character.

"Shinola" actually exists. The things you can learn from a Dolly Parton album, _Backwoods Barbie_ to be specific!

Next up: "Under A Blanket Of Blue"


	10. Under A Blanket Of Blue

Author's notes:

Thank you to two great writers and friends, **make-mine-a-kiaora** and **Sue Shay**, for their help. Be sure to check out their stories - I have favorited them in my profile for easy access.

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

><p>Chapter 10 - "Under A Blanket Of Blue"<p>

* * *

><p><em>Later that night…<em>

A sense of anticipation filled Teresa Lisbon. She and Capp Grainger stared out at the night sky from atop the flat roof of the River Manor Apartments. A large, folded-up blue tarp lay against Teresa's left foot. Below them on the front lawn, Henry Karson paced back-and-forth, lifting up his night-vision goggles every few seconds. In his free hand, he twirled a lasso.

"See anything yet, Henry?" Teresa's voice broke the silence.

"No, ma'am."

"What about you, Capp?"

Capp lowered her own goggles before she replied.

"Me neither, but it's a beautiful night for hunting drones." Capp waved her hand in the direction of the full moon. "It's so bright we almost don't need to look through these things."

"Maybe if we're lucky we'll bag our prey." Teresa kicked at the tarp with her shoe.

"Where's your husband?" asked Capp.

"Archie said he'd be here soon," Teresa said. "I could tell by the tone of his voice he was planning something. I don't know whether to be scared or hopeful or both."

As if on cue, a lone figure emerged from the parking lot. Her husband ambled across the lawn until he stood next to Henry. The two men exchanged greetings then Henry pointed up to the roof. Lifting his gaze, he made eye contact with Teresa and Capp.

The two women waved down to him as he waved back at them with one hand - and swung a giant fish net with the other. He took a position in the middle of the lawn, like he was a baseball outfielder waiting for a fly ball. Capp scrunched up her face before she spoke to Teresa.

"Uh, Teresa, your husband is a fine fellow, but he's kind of eccentric, wouldn't you say?"

Teresa chuckled.

"That's the nicest way I've ever heard it described."

The two settled their elbows down on the railing and peered into the night sky.

"You know, I envy you and Archie."

"Envy us?" Teresa lowered her goggles at the same time Capp did.

Capp nodded.

"It's obvious how much you two love each other, and you've made a life and family for yourselves. This is the perfect setting."

Teresa shook her head.

"A lot of people would say living in a small town like Cannon River is hardly the perfect setting."

"It's perfect because you two make it perfect. Cannon River or New York or San Paulo or Nova Scotia - it doesn't matter where, you've carved out your own little corner of the world for yourselves."

"I love Archie with all my heart. Where we are pales compared to being with him and our son." It amazed Teresa how relaxed she'd become talking with this woman in such a short period of time. Relaxed enough that she could ask a personal question. "Have you ever been in love, Capp?"

"Once, Teresa. I met a guy through my work. Someone I felt a deep connection with from the start. He did too but we never said it out loud." Capp took a halting breath before she continued. "The trouble was we were caught in the middle of something bigger than the both of us. Something vital and scary and dangerous all at the same time. We had to bury our feelings for the greater good, so much was riding on the outcome of what we did."

What Capp said amazed Teresa. This woman had just described in a nutshell her own life before coming to Cannon River. Teresa guessed the answer to her next question before she asked it.

"What happened?"

"After events came to a head, we went our separate ways with only a wave goodbye. But he stayed in my thoughts - how he was doing, where he was, if our time together meant as much to him as it did to me. Sometimes I'd wake up during the night from a dream about him and never go back to sleep. 'Absence does make the heart grow fonder' as the old saying goes. I ached to see him again, somehow, somewhere. And then I did. In a small town police station."

The two women smiled at each other. Teresa's heart went out to her two friends, one old and one new. She reached over to grasp Capp's arm.

"Take some advice from me, Capp. When fate gives you a chance, seize it. Don't let it pass by."

A reedy voice from below called out.

"Chief! The drone's coming toward us from due north." Henry pointed as he jumped up and down to get her attention.

Both women raised their goggles. As Teresa brought hers into focus, she gasped at the speed of the object as it advanced toward their position. On her right side, she heard Capp grunt.

"Whoever's piloting that thing knows enough to get by, but he's doesn't have the steady hand of a pro. That's why you've gotten so many reports of sightings these last few days."

"You can tell that by the way it's flying along?"

"Yep. Not that the pilot of this one is bad, but you can see the drone jerk around as it moves. If the pilot used a more fluid motion, it'd be almost invisible."

"Really?"

"Let me put it this way. Did you have any reports of an object flying around town fourteen months ago?"

"No, none that I recall." Teresa stared at Capp as a grin stretched across her face. "Wait a minute. Didn't your mother move here twelve months ago?"

"Yep. I told you I wanted to check out the 'Paradise of the Pacific Northwest' before she moved here. And I have to log ten hours of training flights a month to maintain active status. The rules tell me how long to train but they don't tell me where." Capp's throaty laugh cut through the night air.

Teresa shook her head in wonder at the woman standing next to her.

"It's here, Chief."

Henry's voice drew Teresa and Capp's attention. Dropping his goggles to the ground, Henry twirled his lasso above his head. The drone slowed to a stop five meters from the front of the building. Once there, it hovered with its snout facing the brick wall.

Henry spun his lasso above his head faster and faster. In the stillness of the night, Teresa heard the whirring noise of the rope as it whipped through the air. Reaching down, she picked up one end of the tarp and handed the other to Capp. Amid the buzz of activity, Teresa glanced at her husband on the lawn. He stood in a relaxed stance, looking back-and-forth between Henry and the two women. He held the fish net slung over his shoulder.

"Here goes nothing!" Henry hurled his lasso toward the drone like it was livestock at a rodeo. Spinning through the air, the rope closed on its target. At the last second, a breeze buffeted the drone's wings, and the lasso thudded against its side without snagging it. In a limp motion, the rope fell to the grass as Henry reeled it back to him in a frenzy.

Teresa tapped Capp's shoulder.

"We're up next."

The two women held their tarp above where the drone hovered. On Teresa's count of three, they released it. The tarp fluttered as it fell. Direct hit! It slammed onto the top of the drone. For a moment Teresa could make out the shape of the drone under the fabric of the tarp. It slowly descended toward the grass below. But at the same time, the tarp began to slip. Henry scurried over to stand under it, his arms outstretched to grab it. About four meters from the ground, the drone rocked to-and-fro. The motion shook the drone free, and it accelerated up into the sky.

Frustration seized Teresa. Henry had _almost_ captured it. She and Capp had _almost_ captured it. Yet like in an old fishing tale, the drone got away.

At that moment the crack of a rifle shot rang out.

* * *

><p>To be continued.<p>

* * *

><p>Author's notes:<p>

Written by Jerry Livingston, Al J. Neiburg, and Marty Symes, my favorite recording of "Under A Blanket Of Blue" is by Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong as found on the album, _The Complete Ella Fitzgerald & Louis Armstrong on Verve_.

Up next: "It's A Pity To Say Goodnight"


	11. It's A Pity To Say Goodnight

Author's notes:

Thank you to two great writers and friends, **make-mine-a-kiaora** and **Sue Shay**, for their help. Be sure to check out their stories - I have favorited them in my profile for easy access.

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

><p>Chapter 11 - "It's A Pity To Say Goodnight"<p>

* * *

><p>By instinct, Capp Grainger ducked down at the sound of the gunshot. Also by instinct, she had reached out to pull Teresa Lisbon down with her. No need. Teresa had ducked as well, and had grabbed at Capp's arm to pull her.<p>

"_We're a lot alike,"_ thought Capp.

But both women rallied quickly. They raised up to peer over the railing that ran along the roof. Down on the lawn, Henry Karson raised up out of the crouch he had balled himself into.

On her left side, Teresa stood up fully, gun drawn. Capp did the same, taking her pistol from her jacket pocket. Above the lawn, the drone spun round and round like a toy top while losing altitude. When Capp looked closer, she saw why. Tapping Teresa's arm, she pointed to it.

"One of the stabilizers on the drone is gone. The rifle shot must have clipped it off. Whoever did that is an expert."

"What's going on?" Teresa was talking to herself as much as to Capp.

Capp noticed that Teresa's attention had focused on another part of the lawn. Following her line of sight, Capp saw why. She tapped her new friend on the arm again.

"What's your husband doing, Teresa?"

Keeping her gaze on Archie Marbray, Teresa heaved out a sigh. She lowered her weapon and motioned for Capp to do the same. As the drone winded its way toward the ground, Marbry ran under it, waving his fish net above his head.

"I have no idea, Capp. But somehow he's behind this. Now I don't know whether to feel angry or happy."

"Is Archie gonna catch the drone in his net?"

"It appears so."

In a sudden motion, the drone jerked out of its steady spiral. Now it hurtled across the street.

"I'll get it, Teresa!" Archie called out to his wife.

The professor took off in a foot race behind the falling drone. As he ran, he swiped at it. The result? The same failure that Henry, Teresa, and Capp had. Archie had closed distance with the drone, but its erratic movement jerked it away each time he swung the net.

Still losing altitude, the spinning drone took a turn - toward the river gorge. Closer and closer it sped toward the overhang. Reaching ahead, Archie strained to get his net under the drone. Capp heard Teresa whisper to herself.

"Please be careful, Hubby, please."

Capp saw the chief shake with fear - fear for her husband. An impulse came over Capp, and she grasped Teresa's hand to comfort her.

Now only a pace or two behind the drone, Archie ran full-speed toward the overhang. He lifted up his net only to have its rim clang against the tail of the drone. Now it began to flip end-over-end as well as spin.

The drone reached the overhang. It arced over the ledge. Half-a-second later Archie reached the ledge himself. The scene riveted both women. Capp felt Teresa's now-moist hand squeeze hers. The chief lifted up a barely audible prayer then her breath caught.

Capp felt sure the professor would spill into the gorge himself. The man skidded trying to brake himself from going over the side. The net swung through the air wildly as he tried to stop himself.

Down, down, down. The drone fell out of Capp's view as it descended toward the river. Archie's net followed. Now his torso swayed as he grasped the net with both hands. Capp watched the scene as Teresa held her hand like a vise while she continued to recite her prayer.

Somehow, some way, the professor halted his forward motion. He grunted as he clutched his net. The stem on it bent down so far Capp thought it would snap at any second. But it didn't. Archie stood frozen for a moment. Then he called out.

"Hennnnnrrrrrry! I could use a little help over here."

Capp saw the officer drop his lasso to hurry over to the professor. Together the two men grasped the stem of the net. Slowly they raised it back up - with the drone snared in it.

"Oh, Honey!" Teresa called out to her husband like a school girl calling out to her sweetheart.

Capp felt Teresa's iron grip ease.

Down on the lawn, Archie and Henry walked into the circle of light under a street lamp. The professor held aloft the net with the drone in it. Rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, Archie looked like the fisherman who just caught the largest trout in the history of Washington state.

"For you, my dear Teresa, for you."

Rather than answer, Capp saw Teresa blow a kiss to her husband. In response, Archie pantomimed catching the kiss to bring to his lips. In turn, he blew a kiss back to her.

Teresa tugged Capp's sleeve.

"Let's go see what Archie caught, shall we?"

Teresa amused Capp. She bounded down the stairs of the apartment building two steps at a time then whipped open the lobby door. When Capp herself made it outside, she saw Teresa run across the lawn to her husband. Archie dropped his net, opened his arms, and enveloped her in a hug.

As Capp approached the couple, she heard a wisp of a whisper from Teresa's lips.

"Jane, you idiot."

That made no sense to Capp, but Teresa kissing Archie made perfect sense. She halted her steps to give the couple a moment of privacy before she approached. At that moment, the two shut off the rest of the world. Kimball had told her about the bond the chief and the professor shared, and now she saw it first hand. Their kiss lingered until an interruption broke them apart.

"Ma'am? Do you want us to bag the drone?" Two of Teresa's officers walked up to the couple. The chief glanced at them.

"Yes. Michaela, Warrick, you two work with Henry to process the scene."

"Already on it, ma'am!" Everyone turned to look at Henry when he spoke. He had donned plastic gloves to hold aloft the drone above his head like a fish. "You caught a big one, Professor. Wanna get your picture made with it?"

Archie chuckled as he hugged Teresa's waist.

"Maybe later, Henry. I'll let you do your business first."

Capp walked over to the chief and the professor. She opened her mouth to add her own wisecrack about a fish story where the big one _didn't_ get away but a noise from the hillside distracted everyone. _Thump, thump, thump._ A lone figure clad in dark clothing traipsed down the incline. In his hand he clutched a rifle. When he walked under a street lamp, Capp could at last see his face. She squealed.

_Kimball._

Capp ran over to embrace him.

"Handsome, smart, and a crack shot with a sniper rifle. Be still my heart!" she said.

"Aw shucks, ma'am. 'Twernt nothin' special." Kimball beamed at Capp as he did a John Wayne impersonation with his rifle slung over his shoulder.

Capp glanced at Teresa, and she nodded back at her.

"Folks, it's gonna take our officers a while to process the scene and get the drone back to the station. We'll inspect it there. It'll be at least 8am before we can start," Teresa said.

Capp mouthed a silent "thank you" to Teresa then turned to speak to Kimball.

"Hey, Rascal. Let a gal buy you a cup of coffee at that all-night diner down the road, why doncha?"

Kimball looked at Teresa and she made a shoving motion. He turned back to Capp.

"Sounds like best idea I've heard in a long time. Lemme buy _you_ a late dinner."

The pair began to walk off as Capp looked over her shoulder at Teresa. "I'll see ya at the station at 8am." She looked over at Kimball. "So just to be clear, you're buying this gal a meal, huh?"

"Yep. A good one too according to the local cops."

* * *

><p>Teresa watched Kimball and Capp put their arms around each other as they walked off.<p>

Patrick Jane squeezed his wife's waist.

"Teresa Lisbon, you sly matchmaker, you."

"I've got a good feeling about those two, Hubby. In the meantime you're gonna tell me where on earth you got that idea of yours. And the huge fishnet."

They walked to her squad car, hand-in-hand.

"Well, when Kimball and I were walking past the prop room for the Drama Department at Deverell, I remembered that our old friend was a master sniper in his military career. So I thought 'Why not put his expertise to good use?' The odds never favored yours and Henry's plans."

"And fortune favored your plan more?"

He shrugged.

"The odds again, my dear Teresa, the odds. They never favored Kimball and me either, yet when you had three attempts at the drone, all different, the overall chance of success increased. I do commend you on your ingenuity though. Throwing the tarp over the drone almost worked. You've always shown a resourcefulness I admire. The only advantage I had was having the net so I could swipe at the drone."

"And Kimball Cho's sharp eye looking through a gun sight."

Her husband smiled.

"Especially that. The plan excited him even more knowing that Capp would be here. Between you and me, I think he wanted to show off in front of her. Kimball carries strong feelings for her. Of course he'd never say that out loud."

They had arrived at the squad car. Patrick hustled two steps in front of Teresa to open the driver's side door for her. He exaggerated a bow for her as she sat down in the car seat. Once he himself got seated on the passenger side, she fired the engine then glanced at him.

"Capp carries those same feelings for Kimball."

"Then our work here is done, Teresa." She mock-scowled at him. "Well, almost all of our work. There's still that pesky case to solve…"

* * *

><p>To be continued.<p>

* * *

><p>Author's notes:<p>

Mack Gordon and Billy Reid wrote "It's A Pity To Say Goodnight," and my favorite version is Ella Fitzgerald's on her album, Ella Swings Gently With Nelson.

Up next: "The More I See You, The More I Want You"


	12. The More I See You, The More I Want You

Author's notes:

Thank you to two great writers and friends, **make-mine-a-kiaora** and **Sue Shay**, for their help. Be sure to check out their stories - I have favorited them in my profile for easy access.

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

><p>Chapter 12 - "The More I See You, The More I Want You"<p>

* * *

><p>Grace Van Pelt and her husband Wayne Rigsby had lain awake for hours unable to sleep. Worse, they felt trapped in the guest bedroom at Teresa and Jane's house. It was like a prison cell with a queen-size cot.<p>

They dared not venture out of the bedroom. The noise she and Wayne heard around the house made them fear what they would see if they opened the door. Just after dawn quiet returned, but by then neither of them could fall back to sleep.

After a fruitless half hour of tossing and turning, Grace looked over at Wayne to see him looking back at her. Both nodded an unspoken agreement. They rose from bed, and Grace cracked open the door.

Fear gripped her as she peeked into the hallway. She found nothing. Nothing but pastel blue walls, a painting of sunrise along a beach, and an oak bookshelf…with a t-shirt draped across its top. Tugging her husband's sleeve, Grace led the way down the hall. A surprise greeted them at the end - the door to Lisbon and Jane's bedroom was half-way open.

"Do you think we should go in?"

"Wayne, we need to let them know how ill-at-ease they made us. We're both happy for them, aren't we?"

"Yeah."

"But they can't keep this up while we're here."

"You're right. Neither of us got a wink of sleep."

"And what about when Charlie gets older? Teresa and Jane are gonna have to show some restraint."

"You're right again."

"Let's peek in there and see if they're asleep yet."

"You first, Grace."

Grace shook her head in disbelief when she heard her husband say that. He'd always been circumspect around Lisbon and Jane, but they were friends now, not colleagues. As such, Grace knew they'd respect her and Wayne's feelings. Taking a deep breath, Grace pushed open the door fully. Wayne looked over her shoulder.

"Gone! How could they have left already?" asked Grace.

"I don't know," Wayne said. "Let's go eat breakfast."

Grace took a half-a-second to shake her head at the bottomless pit that was her husband's stomach. Then she patted it.

"Alright, but as soon as we eat, we're going to the police station. We've gotta talk to them."

Thirty minutes later, the sun still low in the sky, a bleary-eyed Grace and Wayne walked into the station. The night shift's skeleton crew bustled back and forth. A few of the day-shift cops lounged around with coffee and the morning paper before they began work. Oddly, the light in the hallway leading to Teresa's office remained dim; perhaps in their haste to get there neither she nor Jane had flicked the switch to full power.

Reaching the end of the hall outside Teresa's office, Grace and Wayne found the door open and heard Jane's voice wafting out from inside. Grace glanced at her husband a final time before she entered. He nodded. Taking a deep breath, she walked in. Wayne, _bless his heart_, followed two steps behind.

What they found was Patrick Jane behind Teresa's desk. He was holding Charlie as he finished hitching up a new diaper. The scene flummoxed Grace. It was difficult enough for her and Wayne to bring up their hosts' behavior; now it felt like they were picking on the family. Jane raised his gaze from his son to the new arrivals. He smiled.

"Good morning, Wayne, Grace. I didn't expect to see you guys up so early this morning."

Grace nodded at Wayne, which prompted him to speak up.

"About that, Jane. We need to talk."

Jane's brow furrowed.

"Is there a problem?"

Wayne glanced at Grace for support. She raised her eyebrows for him to continue.

"Yes there is, Jane. But Grace and I want to emphasis that we're happy for you and Teresa."

"Yeah, we're really happy that you got together, that you married," said Grace.

"Well, that's good. I'm glad you two got married," said Jane. Holding Charlie on his shoulder while patting his son's back, he had an expression on his face like someone gets when confronted with a puzzle he can't solve.

"Uh, yeah, Jane. We're all glad we're…uh…married." Wayne was having trouble finding words to express himself.

"And we're really glad you invited us to spend our vacation here. We've enjoyed it so far," said Grace.

"Even when I got you to go undercover?" asked Jane.

"Well at least we got to drive that sweet '66 Pontiac GTO."

Grace didn't want Wayne to get distracted so she poked him in the stomach.

"Jane, I'm just gonna come right out and say it. Neither Wayne nor I got any sleep last night."

"I'm sorry, Grace. Was something wrong?"

"Nothing other than all the racket around the house."

"Racket?"

Now Wayne joined in. Grace could tell that Jane's nonchalance irked her husband as much as it did her.

"Jane, all that moaning and screaming and yelling embarrassed us. Your carrying on kept us awake and in our room the whole night. We were scared to open the door. We were scared we'd interrupt whatever you and Teresa were doing."

"We, ahm, knew what you and Teresa were doing. We just didn't want to see it," said Grace.

"Privacy is a two-way street, Jane," said Wayne.

"Don't just think of it in terms of us, Jane. Think of Charlie. As he grows up, he'll become more aware of what's going on around him. For his sake, you and Teresa need to think about keeping your…_passion…_a little more quiet," said Grace.

Wayne took a deep breath before he spoke.

"You need to be more discreet, that's all."

Grace noted that Jane's expression hadn't changed while she and Wayne poured out their thoughts. Instead of contrition, his scrunched-up face betrayed bewilderment. Before he spoke, he cast a glance to the corner. Grace followed his line of sight to find Teresa folding up the office couch. Apparently it also served as a pull-out bed.

"Did you hear that, Teresa?" Jane asked.

"Yeah." She looked over at Grace. "Racket at our house kept you awake last night?"

"Yes, it did, Teresa. Like we said, we're not mad at you. We know you love each other, but we think you two going at it as loud as you were doing it last night is…"

"Grace, Jane and I didn't go home last night. We've been here all night getting the drone ready to inspect. We keep this pull-out bed here for when we're working on a fast-moving case."

"…and we keep a portable crib here for Charlie," said Jane.

Grace looked at Wayne. He was as dumbfounded as her.

"Well if you weren't at home last night, then who…" Wayne's words trailed off as Kimball and Capp walked into Teresa's office, all smiles and giggles.

Kimball Cho giggling? The whole concept floored Grace. She looked over to Wayne, and at the same time the two of them grinned at each other.

* * *

><p>"<em>Oh, crap"<em> Capp thought as she entered Teresa's office. Four pairs of eyes followed her and Kimball as they walked in.

_They know._

Capp Grainger could do nothing more than smile…and giggle when Kimball whispered to her.

"You don't think we were too loud, do you?"

_I love this man._

"I'm just gonna go get some coffee and let you greet your friends."

"Coward."

"Really, Kimball? You can really accuse me of that?"

The two of them giggled again as Capp walked around to the kitchenette in Teresa's office and Kimball strode over to his friends, defiance on his face. Before she turned the corner, Capp noticed that the drone now sat on Teresa's desk, ready for inspection.

Once Capp made it into the kitchenette area, she started up a fresh pot of coffee and looked for a mug. From the office, she heard only muffled voices - except for Wayne Rigsby's "Attaboy" followed closely by Kimball's "Shut up, Rigsby." That exchange brought forth laughs from the others.

Even though Capp could tell the group was giving Kimball a hard time, she could tell something else too - these people were close. Making friends had always been hard for Capp, and she admired the strong bond these people had formed at the California Bureau of Investigation. She could see the familiar way they talked to each other, the gentle kidding they shared, and the warm spirit that filled the room when two or more of them were together.

During downtime on their own mission, Kimball had told Capp about the team at CBI. What he and his friends had to go through! Kimball confided in Capp that in his last months with CBI he wondered if they would even survive. The serial killer Red John and what became known as the Blake Association ratcheted up the normal tension and danger that came with the job to a level that no one could endure for long. That cemented the strong connection he had to his old team - Wayne, Grace, Teresa, and the late Patrick Jane.

Capp gathered that the rest of the team took Jane's death hard. What happened to Jane was so unfair, she thought. Sure he broke some laws. But thanks to Jane one less serial killer stalked the earth. And they unmasked that corrupt association too.

Yet this tight-knit group never spoke of Patrick Jane nowadays. Of course people handled grief in different ways. With her Kimball coping meant quiet stoicism, a trait she admired in him. Teresa, the one closest Jane, coped by moving on with her life. Kimball told her that Teresa Lisbon and Patrick Jane been like brother and sister at CBI. At least now in Cannon River, Teresa had found love in the form of Archie Marbray, a good if somewhat odd man. While Capp respected Kimball's powers of observation, she suspected that Teresa's feelings for Patrick Jane had extended beyond a mere sibling-type bond. Why else would Teresa have called Archie "Jane" when he netted the drone? Most men wouldn't take it well when their wives called out the name of a man from her past, but Archie seemed to take it in stride. That spoke well for him. Yes, Teresa Lisbon and Archie Marbray had made a good life for themselves, and Capp wished some day for a life like that of her own.

A pair of strong arms encircled Capp's and broke her out of her thoughts. She hummed as memories from a couple of hours ago flooded back. As she eased back into a now familiar embrace, Capp felt a pair of lips brush against her ear lobe.

"You look good in the morning, Nymph."

Capp twisted around in Kimball's arms to face him. She hung her arms around his neck.

"You look good too, Rascal." She just couldn't help herself from saying what she did next. "And you smell better than you did when I found you in that wheat field in Kansas."

They laughed together.

Capp closed her eyes while they leaned toward each other. As her lips moved onto Kimball's, she smelled lilac soap. It conjured up a fresh memory. Before they came to the police station that morning they showered. Lilac was the only kind of soap they could find in the guest bath at Teresa and Archie's house. She decided that scent suited Kimball well, and her mind had already linked it with him.

Just as Capp and Kimball deepened their kiss an unholy racket kicked up in the office area. Metal clanged, and raised voices followed each thud.

"…no, I said move it over that way…"

"…pull on three. One, two, three…"

"…don't drop that thing on my foot…"

"…eeeeeeeeeeeeoooooooooooaaaaaaaaawwwwwww! I said not to drop it on my foot…"

"…okay, you two on that end and we'll be on this end. On three we'll all pull. One, two, three…"

Capp opened her eyes to find Kimball's open too. Looking at each other, they rolled their eyes at the same time.

"What do think your friends are doing out there?" she asked.

"Screwing up."

Capp sighed.

"I guess we oughtta stop 'em from whatever it is they're doing before they hurt themselves."

Kimball leaned forward for one more kiss.

"They're good people, Capp, but sometimes they can get into the darndest trouble."

They released each other and headed back into the office.

When Capp was growing up, Viola censored what they watched on television. Her mother ruled out anything with foul language, adult situations, and the twin pillars of moral turpitude, sex and violence. After Viola went through her checklist, only one TV show was left, one from the 1950s. Sometimes she cast a wary eye at that one too, but Capp complained so much that her mother gave in. For that, the little girl was thankful. So as a child, Capp Grainger viewed all of life in terms of _I Love Lucy_.

Now rounding the corner into the office, Capp stopped so quickly that Kimball slammed into her backside. In front of them a real-life version of what she grew up watching on TV unfolded. Teresa and Archie held the front end of the drone, pulling it toward them. At the rear, Wayne and Grace gripped the tail fin and yanked it backwards. The result? Only grunts and grumbles and a tug of war that neither side could win.

"Hey, hey. Lucy and Ricky, Fred and Ethel. Save something for me to take a look at."

Capp crossed her arms as the quartet ceased their tug of war. Setting the drone down on Lisbon's desk, they backed off.

"Be our guest." Teresa smiled as she stepped aside to let Capp move to the desk.

"Thanks. Now somebody find this gal a blow torch."

Capp waited three beats before she looked up from the drone at the quartet again. When she did, all four of their mouths had dropped open. Glancing beyond them, she saw Kimball grin at her. She winked at him.

"A blow torch?" Teresa's voice cracked when she asked.

"Just kidding, folks. You guys take me waaaaaay too seriously. Be more like Kimball. He knows how to handle me." Again she looked over to Kimball and winked. "What I do need is a medium-sized Phillips screw driver."

"I can do that," Teresa said. She walked behind her desk, pulled open the bottom drawer, and extracted a set of seven screw drivers in a plastic case. Teresa handed the case to Capp. "Can you use one of these?"

Capp picked up the one in the exact middle.

"Perfect. I need this one and few minutes, and then we can see the innards on this baby." She petted the side of the drone like it was a puppy. "Pull up a chair, Teresa, and let's get started."

Despite knowing Kimball's friends for only short time, Capp had come to like all of them, the chief in particular. Teresa Lisbon was one of those natural-born leaders, someone she felt a trust for and kinship with. Kimball had described his old boss to her in glowing terms, and now that she got to meet the woman in person she understood his respect.

With Teresa helping to catalog each part they removed, in a half hour they had spread five major sections of the drone across the desk. Kimball and the others crowded around the two women to watch. With a sigh of success, Capp at last set aside her screw driver to take a break.

"I never knew you could pack so much surveillance equipment into one small space," said Teresa.

"Yeah, and someone customized a lot of it. Look at it. We've got heat sensors, an infrared camera, an ultrasound device. I wish my doctor had half this equipment when I got appendicitis."

"All of this would have been useful in scanning a building like the apartment house, wouldn't it?" asked Archie.

Capp nodded.

"You could find out a lot about a building."

"Including what was inside?"

"Yes."

Wayne Rigsby moved around the desk, his gaze scanning over every inch of the drone. Looking up, he spoke to Capp.

"Grace and I could use something like this in our own work."

Capp saw Grace scowl at Wayne and cross her arms.

"How much would one of these cost?"

Capp scratched her head.

"At least in the upper six figures, Grace."

She saw Wayne's expression droop.

"That much, huh. Is there an aftermarket these things?" he asked.

"Some. For instance, the federal government has one of its units for sale right now for a lot less. The scuttlebutt around the office is that its front end got damaged in a recent operation. I wouldn't make a bid on it if I were you though. You don't know what that thing has been _through_."

Kimball smirked at Capp.

A commotion by the doorway got everyone's attention. Henry Karson ran in with a jumble of maps and printouts tucked under his arm. When he saw the pieces of the drone strewn across Teresa's desk, he changed course to the table in the corner and spread out all his materials. He called to Teresa and Archie over his shoulder.

"Chief! Professor! I've got something."

* * *

><p>To be continued.<p>

* * *

><p>Author's notes:<p>

Chapters 10 and 11 of the story "Clear Blue Morning" explain the "death" of Patrick Jane that Capp was thinking about.

Lucy, Ricky, Fred, and Ethel were the four main characters on the American television sitcom _I Love Lucy_.

Harry Warren and Mack Gordon wrote "The More I See You" in 1945, and my favorite version is Michael Bublé's on his album, _It's Time_.

Up next: "King Of Pain"


	13. King Of Pain

Author's notes:

Thank you to two great writers and friends, **make-mine-a-kiaora** and **Sue Shay**, for their help. Be sure to check out their stories - I have favorited them in my profile for easy access.

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

><p>Chapter 13 - "King Of Pain"<p>

* * *

><p>Teresa Lisbon marveled once again at her young officer, Henry Karson. He had matured so much, yet he retained that boyish enthusiasm now on full display. As he spread maps, printouts, and scribbled notes across the side table, he looked over his shoulder at Teresa and her husband.<p>

"Chief, Professor. Come see. I know where the drone is coming from."

Teresa smiled at Henry as she and Patrick hurried over to the table. The young officer held aloft a stack of printouts in one hand. In his other hand he clutched a city street map. Red ink lettering marked the map, and highlighted streaks covered sections of it. He rocked back-and-forth on his feet trying to control his energy. Patrick put his hand on Henry's arm to still him.

"How many cups of coffee have you had, Henry?"

"Not sure, Professor. I quit counting after five."

"What have you got?" Teresa asked.

"I went back through all the 911 calls for the last three months and pulled out any description that could remotely sound connected to the drone - flying objects, strange noises, glimpses of someone or something outside a window," said Henry.

"You did that by hand?"

"Yes, ma'am. First I tried to use the computer system and then a spreadsheet. But it didn't work for what I needed. I had to interpret each description in each call to see if it could tie to the drone."

"This took a long time, didn't it?"

"Yes, ma'am. And a lot of coffee too." He frowned. "You guys won't tell Annabelle how much I drank, will you? She says I get too much caffeine as is."

"Your secret's safe with us, Henry," said Patrick.

"Thanks." Henry folded out the street map in front of him. "Look at the patterns I found." He glanced over to Patrick. "Professor, you always say to look for patterns. When I plotted all this data, I found some."

Henry pointed to three highlighted groups of dots.

"Tell us what we're seeing, Henry."

"Yes, sir. The blue highlights are the ones around the apartment building, what we've focused on all along. The green is a path the drone seemed to be taking the last few days." Then Henry thumped his index finger in triumph on the third group. "The yellow highlights show where the drone came from."

Teresa stood in wonder while Henry beamed like a high school junior at the science fair.

"This is amazing, Henry. So what's here at the end of the trail?" She pointed to a clump of dots.

"That big house on the edge of town."

Teresa recalled seeing a mansion-like house while driving through town when she first came to Cannon River. High fences circled the building, and it looked like a fortress from outside. She decided that whoever lived there wanted privacy above anything else.

"Do you know who's there?"

"No one from around here nowadays. Old Man Hodges, _I mean Avery Hodges_, a local guy who owns Hodges Trucking, used to live in it. But he sold it. The real estate records show that eighteen months ago someone named Dirk Trumble bought it."

"Dirk Trumble? _The_ Dirk Trumble?"

Teresa turned around when she heard the surprise in Capp Grainger's voice.

"Ma'am, is he some movie star or something?" Henry asked.

Patrick joined Teresa and Henry in looking at Capp.

"No, he's bigger than that. Or least he was," she said.

Capp moved to the computer on Teresa's desk and made a few clicks. Then she nodded her head for Teresa and Patrick to come over. With a pen, she pointed to the headline of a four-year-old _Journal of Global Commerce_ article she had pulled up on the screen: _"The Man Who Invented The 21st Century."_

Teresa and Patrick looked over Capp's shoulders and read the article. In another portion of the screen, Capp busied herself with a search for something else. Soon she raised a second article.

"Check this out. It's from three years ago."

Teresa saw the headline, _"CEO Trumble Announces Pending IPO for EvaCorp."_

"Do you know if Trumble's company went through with the IPO, Capp?"

"Yeah, EvaCorp did. All of us in our agency kept track of that company."

"Why?" asked Teresa.

"Saying that Dirk Trumble and his people invented the 21st Century only exaggerates a little. They've created a lot cutting edge devices over the last decade. Stuff like robotics, comm networks, optics." Capp circled around the desk. "And they make these too." She lifted up tail of the drone to display the nameplate: _EvaCorp_.

"What's Trumble doing in Cannon River of all places?" Teresa could almost hear the gears turning in her husband's mind as he asked his question.

Capp returned to the computer to tap out a few more keystrokes.

"I don't know that, Archie. But there's this." Capp thumped the computer screen.

Teresa and Patrick looked at a two-and-a-half-year-old article on the screen: "_EvaCorp Announces Departure of Trumble, Messerly Named New CEO_."

"How old is Trumble?" asked Teresa.

"Forty if even that," said Capp.

"Not old enough to retire."

"No. Especially not someone as dynamic as him. Here's his photo from just before the IPO."

Dressed in a stylish blue suit with bright red tie, Dirk Trumble cut a dashing figure in the midst of a group of Wall Street analysts.

"Interesting," said Patrick.

"The reason I know about this is because of Herb, a guy I work with," said Capp. "He invested a lot of money in EvaCorp. The stock tanked when Trumble left."

"So his departure must not have been planned."

"No, and all of us that worked with Herb heard him whine for months. Big baby. It's taken two years for EvaCorp to regain it value."

"Why did Trumble leave?" asked Teresa.

"Don't know. You never heard anything about Trumble except for his work. For all I know he could have been like one of those guys or gals that leads a double life."

Teresa chuckled to herself when she saw Patrick fidget.

"Ah, yeah, could be." He recovered quickly then looked to his wife. "Teresa, how do you feel about us paying Mr. Trumble a visit?"

"Let's," Teresa said as she slipped on her jacket.

* * *

><p>Patrick Jane and Teresa Lisbon stood outside the three-meter high wall that surrounded Dirk Trumble's house. Casting a glance at the intercom button beside the entrance gate, Teresa raised her eye brows as she looked at her husband. Patrick nodded in reply and she pressed the buzzer on the intercom.<p>

No response.

Teresa pressed the buzzer again.

Still no response.

Teresa looked at Patrick again. He waved his hand. She pressed the buzzer a third time.

Static sounded on the speaker then cleared.

"Yes." The gruffness in the voice sounded like an old man ready to chase some kids off his front lawn.

"Sir, is this Mr. Dirk Trumble?"

"Why?"

"I'm Cannon River Police Chief Teresa Lisbon. My consultant Professor Archie Marbray is with me. We'd like to ask Mr. Trumble some questions about a case that we're working on."

"You can come in. I'll open the gate. But don't drive your car in. I don't want any vehicles in the compound. It disturbs the solitude."

A high-pitched chirp signaled that the gate had unlocked. Teresa pushed it open, and she and Patrick walked through. Once inside, the gate slammed shut behind them. As they walked across the pavement to the house, Teresa pointed out several surveillance cameras. In trees, atop poles, and on the house, they all rotated to follow Patrick and Teresa.

As they walked further, Teresa pointed to an open area in the rear of the house. Two large slabs of pavement stretched across the expanse. One slab lay bare; the other had a helicopter sitting on it.

A noise around their feet got Patrick's attention. Glancing down, he saw a gaggle - _how many? _- of small box-shaped robots on wheels swarm around himself and Teresa. They looked like a pack of metallic beagle puppies trailing their master.

"We've attracted a crowd, Teresa," he said as he tapped the nearest robot beagle on its snout.

As soon as Patrick's shoe altered its course, the robot whirled, rotated, and shifted back so it once again pointed toward him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Teresa do the same thing. After tapping aside the robot with her shoe, it self-corrected as well.

"Persistent little buggers, aren't they?" Teresa said as she looked over at her husband.

"Yes, we all are." Patrick and Teresa both jumped when the same gruff voice that greeted them at the gate spoke from the snout of the lead robot.

"Okay, that's creepy," she said.

Patrick bent over the lead robot.

"Take us to your leader, Mr. Robot."

It whirred.

"Follow me."

With the lead robot in front and the others trailing behind them, Patrick and Teresa walked to the house. Once inside, the robots dispersed and they stood at the front of a long, narrow corridor. A chilling breeze made Patrick lift his collar.

"Please come down the hallway," said a voice from a speaker above the door. Patrick and his wife exchanged glances and hesitated to move. "Don't worry. I don't bite."

After a moment's hesitation, they walked ahead.

Painted metallic gray, the walls along the corridor held no life. Rather, they seemed to sap the energy of anyone unfortunate enough to be inside them, Patrick and Teresa included. Ahead he spied a series of giant photographs printed on high quality canvas and hung in a row. As he and Teresa came even with the photos, they slowed to inspect them.

The first photo made a stark contrast to its drab surroundings. A young couple on a sunny day stood arm-in-arm in a parking lot in front of a bright yellow Volkswagon Beetle. In the background, other young people bustled back and forth. It took Patrick a moment to put the scene in context, then his mind clicked. What he was looking at was a scene on a college campus, one like Deverell.

Patrick looked closer at the couple. Even a casual viewer could see the affection they had for each other - the tender grip they held each other with, the leaning of the woman's head on the man's shoulder, the curl of their lips upward as they looked ahead. Then Patrick realized something - the man in the picture was a younger Dirk Trumble.

The second photo showed the same couple at a beach. In swimsuits, they walked toward the camera with surfboards tucked under their arms. Again, the nearness of their bodies to each other betrayed the affection between them. The same yellow Beetle sat parked behind them.

In the third photo the couple had aged a few years. The tone changed as well. In a small office cluttered with papers, computers, and other gadgets, the pair stood arm-in-arm again. Trumble stared straight at the camera dressed in an open-collar blue shirt and tan pants. It was as if his gaze could melt steel. By his side, the woman looked at him with the same joy she had in the previous photos. On the wall of the office, the photo of the couple from the college parking lot hung - Patrick recognized the yellow Beetle.

Judging by their faces, the fourth photo captured a moment in the couple's lives from a few years later. With a valet in uniform behind them, Trumble and the woman stood in front of the yellow Beetle at the entrance of a hotel, the "Crestmont" according to the marque above them. Here their attire differed from the other pictures. The woman wore a long royal blue evening gown, and Trumble sported a tuxedo. Holding hands, they gazed at each other with broad smiles.

Engrossed by the first four scenes, Patrick paid no attention to the fifth photo. Then he and Teresa came even with it. A gasp escaped his mouth as his body recoiled. The yellow Beetle stood alone in the night, a mangled wreck. Swaths of charred metal stretched across its side. Stray wisps of smoke rose from the front.

Patrick and Teresa exchanged glances. The fifth photo had the same effect on her as it did him - revulsion. He saw her shudder.

Motion at the end of the corridor pulled their attention. A man stood with his hands on his hips. Raising one arm, he beckoned them forward. As Patrick and Teresa neared the figure, Patrick experienced yet another shock. He recognized Dirk Trumble from the photos. But now deep wrinkles and crevices lined the man's face. Capp had pegged his age at forty. This man scowling at Patrick and Teresa looked far older.

"Chief Lisbon and Professor Marbray I presume. Chief, you said you wanted to talk with me about a case."

"Yes, sir. We are investigating drone sightings in Cannon…"

As Teresa and Trumble talked, Patrick observed the man. What he saw made Patrick shudder as Teresa had before. The vacant expression that glazed over Trumble's eyes covered an inner pain. Gone was his happy expression from the photos; what remained shared the same gray mood as the walls. On top of that, Patrick got the distinct impression that his and Teresa's presence added to his dour state.

"…and Mr. Trumble, are you familiar with the River Manor Apartments?"

Patrick saw Trumble's eye twitch.

"Chief Lisbon, I limit my contact with the outside world. I prefer to stay here in my compound."

"You never go out?"

"As little as possible. I fly my supplies in once a week from Oregon via helicopter. Perhaps you've seen the landing pads out back. Also, I fly in a cleaning and maintenance crew once a week from Idaho to tend to the needs of the house and grounds. Other than that I reside here by myself."

"Do you ever drive?" asked Patrick.

Trumble turned to glare at him.

"I drive as little as possible. I do not like to drive."

"So you don't have a car in the compound?" asked Teresa.

"I have one somewhere. A Chrysler or Honda or Volvo or some such. I forget which. My people from Oregon deposited one here for me awhile back."

Patrick glanced once more at the photographs before he asked his next question.

"Are you a widower, Mr. Trumble?"

"I am, as you likely already guessed, Professor."

Patrick and Teresa's eyes met, and he hoped he conveyed an unspoken message. As it turned out, he did. Teresa addressed Trumble.

"Mr. Trumble, your helipads in the back are quite impressive. Next year's police department budget has funding to build one of our own. We'll start construction soon. Mind if I take a look at yours?"

Trumble waved his hand.

"By all means, Chief. Please go ahead. And don't worry about those robots that follow you around outside. I set them in surveillance mode. They are not lethal at present."

Teresa excused herself and went out back. The robot beagles converged into a pack that rolled along behind her as she walked across the yard. Patrick saw her look down and laugh at the throng. Once she left his sight, he turned back to Trumble.

"I was widowed myself," Patrick said.

When he heard that, Trumble's demeanor softened.

"So you know what it's like, Professor?"

"I do."

Trumble bade Patrick to walk with him over to the five photographs. He inhaled a deep breath like he was trying to summon a hidden reserve of strength. His hands began to shake.

"Evangeline was not only my wife. She was my joy, my anchor, my whole existence."

Patrick swept his hand in front of the first four photos.

"I can see that, Mr. Trumble. It's obvious she felt the same way about you."

"We met in college. Nothing could keep us apart. We supported each other and lived for each other. The day we met she sang to me and every day after that. Good day or bad , she graced my ears with the beauty of her voice. She sustained me, and I lived for her comfort." Trumble sucked in an even deeper breath as he waved his hand in front of the fifth photo. "Then this happened."

"Tell me about it, Mr. Trumble."

"We had achieved so much together. I built EvaCorp, and my wife honed her beautiful voice. When the company issued its IPO, all the sacrifices that she and I made through the years meant something at last. All the time apart we endured, all the ups and downs of daily life we dealt with, all the heartache and risk we had faced would pay off."

"But…" Patrick said.

"But, Professor, one cruel twist of fate came at the end. During all our time together, I had never recorded Evangeline's voice. I was selfish. I never wanted to share the beauty of that sound with anyone else.

"I can understand that," said Patrick.

"Evangeline wanted to pursue a music career but held off to support me. She never once complained. Not once. She loved me. But I knew she ached to sing in public."

"What happened?"

"The IPO was the light at the end of the tunnel for us. It meant I could step back. Someone else could run things. Evangeline and I would be free. Free to share her talents with the world."

"I'm not sure that I follow what…" Before Patrick could finish his thought, Trumble cut him off.

"Professor, I had booked time in a recording studio, brought together an orchestra and producer, and hired song writers and arrangers to craft music for her to sing. Evangeline would have the best of everything. Our focus shifted from me to her."

"And then…"

"And then, Professor, we were leaving our house to go to the recording studio. I took one last call from my second-in-command at EvaCorp. It was a minor design problem, something I'd dealt with a hundred times before. Small in the big scheme of things."

"And?"

"And…and…and." Trumble choked up. "I sent Evangeline on ahead in her old Beetle and told her I'd follow when I got off the phone." Trumble broke down. "And when I followed ten minutes later, I found this." With one hand he covered his face and with the other he waved at the fifth picture.

Despite the wall that he built in dealing with suspects, Patrick gave in to a sudden impulse. He patted Trumble on the shoulder.

"I've felt the pain you've gone through," Patrick said.

Trumble shook his head.

"No one knows, Professor. No one knows the pain I suffer. Either Evangeline would not have died if I had gone with her or we would have died together. If only I had not be so centered on my own success."

Patrick himself took a deep breath.

"Mr. Trumble. Dirk. Someone told me a long time ago that I should move on, start a new life. Eventually I did."

"I should do that too. But I can't, Professor. I can't." Trumble shook his head.

"Pity, then." The conversation with Trumble had drained Patrick but he forced himself to ask something that lingered on his mind. "I have one more question, Mr. Trumble."

"What?"

"Are you familiar with Perk Perez?"

In an instant, Trumble's expression changed from sorrow to anger.

"Professor Marbray, do you remember me saying that I flew in my supplies from Oregon and my staff from Idaho?" asked Trumble.

"Yes," said Patrick.

"I neglected to mention that I fly in my lawyers from Boston. Our interview has concluded, Professor. I trust that you and Chief Lisbon can let yourselves out."

"We will."

"Please exit with speed. I yearn for solitude again."

Trumble turned away to walk up a flight of stairs. Patrick walked back down the corridor and out the door. Once in the yard, he found Teresa, the pack of robots squeaking behind her. Without words, they made their way to the front gate. Again, a high-pitched chirp signaled that they could exit.

* * *

><p>Teresa didn't know what to expect when Patrick returned from his private conversation with Trumble. Still, his somber mood surprised her. The silence between them on the grounds of the compound continued until they got inside her squad car and closed the doors. Teresa reached to Patrick to grasp his hand. In response he squeezed hers.<p>

"Trumble's behind all this," he said.

"I figured as much." The empty stare on his face frightened her. "Are you alright?"

In one of those sudden motions that she had only partly gotten used to over the years, Patrick pulled Teresa into a tight embrace. As awkward as these impromptu hugs were, she had come to know the best response. While holding him, she patted his shoulder. They remained in their silent embrace until Patrick brought his lips beside her ear to whisper.

"Thank you, Teresa. Thank you for saving me."

* * *

><p>Teresa and Patrick barely had time to get out of her squad car back at the station before a crowd of people spilled out the front door to greet them. Grace, Wayne, Kimball, Henry, and Capp rushed across the parking lot followed by several officers on the day shift. The others glanced at Henry as if they elected him their spokesman. He stepped forward to Patrick and Teresa.<p>

"Pardon my language, Chief, but all hell has broken loose."

* * *

><p>To be continued.<p>

* * *

><p>Author's notes:<p>

Sting wrote "King Of Pain," and the group the Police recorded my favorite version on their album, _Synchronicity_.

Up next: "Something's Gotta Give"


	14. Something's Gotta Give

Author's notes:

Thank you to two great writers and friends, **make-mine-a-kiaora** and **Sue Shay**, for their help. Be sure to check out their stories - I have favorited them in my profile for easy access.

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

><p>Chapter 14 - "Something's Gotta Give"<p>

* * *

><p>Teresa Lisbon saw the concern etched across all the faces in front of her.<p>

"What's happened, Henry?"

"More drones. Bigger drones. Drones flying in broad daylight over the park!"

"Tell me what's happened."

"Look over there, Chief." Henry pointed to the sky above the city park.

In the distance, three silver objects circled in the air. All three were much bigger than the captured one. Sunlight reflected off their bodies as they made turns along their paths. They looked like horses on a carousel as they bobbed up and down in the air.

"When did they show up, Henry?"

"We started getting reports just a few minutes ago. Warrick Albury is the patrol officer at the park, and he says people are flooding in to look at the drones. The crowd is overwhelming him."

Teresa saw Officer Michaela Hinks approach so she waved her over.

"Warrick says things are getting wild at the park. Several hundred people have shown up. He needs help," Michaela said.

Everyone stood around Teresa looking at her to decide what to do next. Teresa closed her eyes to collect her thoughts. After a split second, she opened her eyes and focused on Michaela.

"We're all going to the park. Before you go over Michaela, call in everybody you can to come to the park. On-duty and off-duty. Hurry."

"Yes, ma'am." Michaela sprinted back to the police station.

Teresa looked at her own crowd that surrounded her. All awaited what she said next. With a nod of her head, she motioned to the parking lot.

"Let's all go to the park."

As soon as she and her husband got to her squad car, Mayor Brookins called her. Pulling the car keys from her pocket, she hesitated. She stared first at the keys, then at her husband. With a sigh, she threw the keys to Patrick and motioned for him to drive.

"_Chief, what's going on? People are calling city hall. Apparently the 911 service overloaded so they're calling here,"_ said Brookins.

"We're on it, Mayor."

"_Tell me what's happening, Teresa."_

As Patrick drove them to the park, Teresa briefed the mayor. She couldn't decide what concerned her the most: the drones flying over the park or the distress of an _I'm-up-for-reelection-this-year_ mayor - or Patrick Jane behind the wheel of her squad car. It didn't help matters one bit that her husband barreled the car down Maple Street at 60 miles per hour, lights flashing and siren blaring. As she talked to the mayor, Teresa glanced at Patrick. Why did he have to grin at her like a teenager driving Dad's car for the first time?

Jane would always be Jane. Some things never changed. Amid the chaos around her, Teresa sighed to herself.

Once they arrived at the park, Teresa got a better sense of the scale of the problems - both those in the heavens above and the one on the ground below. The three drones glided around at an altitude of several hundred meters. Some people still went about their earth-bound business - jogging, fishing, picnicing. But most people cast their eyes skyward to watch the show. Many lifted up cameras to film the spectacle.

_People are already posting video to social media_ thought Teresa.

What concerned Teresa above all else was the onrush of new people who thronged into the park. Many students from Deverell College across the street poured onto the park's baseball diamond beside the lake, and other people overflowed the parking lot as word spread across town. A few end-of-the-world nuts chanted out slogans as they bowed down and held their arms aloft toward the drones. People came for the drones and stayed for the bedlam that could erupt any minute.

Teresa saw flashing lights as one, two, then a half dozen more police cars arrived. Officer Hinks did a good job of rounding up officers, but they'd still be outmanned if - and when - the scene turned ugly. To her left, she saw Patrick glance at the sky, then at the crowd, then at her.

"We could lose control here, Hubby. I don't have enough officers if things go bad," she said to Patrick.

Patrick touched his index finger to his lips. She could tell that somewhere in his mind an idea was blooming. In a moment he patted her arm, a look of triumph plastered over his face.

"I'll be back." With that, her husband pivoted and ran across the street.

Capp's voice to her right got Teresa's attention.

"These are some more EvaCorp drones. I recognize the shape."

When Teresa turned to Capp, she found herself surrounded by the same crowd from the police station. Henry stood beside her, his body tense as he awaited any command she might give him. Wayne, Grace, and Kimball looked like they did back in their old CBI days - ready to help her however they could.

"How can one person control all three drones at the same time, Capp?" Teresa asked.

"I've watched their movements. They circle in patterns. Someone programmed them."

Teresa slumped her shoulders.

"Trumble's behind all this. Hubby and I figured that out when we visited him. If there was only some way to control these things."

Capp put her hands on her hips as she stared at the drones.

"Anybody got binoculars?" Capp asked.

"Yes, ma'am." Ever-at-the-ready Henry pulled a small pair from his utility belt and handed them to her.

"Give me a second to get a better look at what model these drones are, whether they are XG71a or XG71b," said Capp.

"That'll make a difference?" Teresa asked.

"Yep. Both are military models. When EvaCorp released the 'a' model, they had a software glitch. It allowed a third-party to capture control of an airborne drone with the right equipment. Not something you want your enemies on the battlefield doing. The company fixed the problem with the 'b' model."

The sun came out from behind a cloud to shine brightly on the sides of the drones.

"Well?"

Capp chortled.

"They're all 'a' models. We're in business."

"Can you get control of them, Capp?"

"Yep. Piece of cake. I've got three control boxes in the trunk of my car. Just give me a few minutes."

"You carry control boxes for drones around in your car?" asked Wayne Rigsby.

Capp scowled at him.

"Well, yeah. I always carry stuff that might come in handy. Along with them I've got two guns, four flash grenades, and a pair of black high-heel dress pumps."

"In your trunk?" asked Wayne.

"Yes. And don't judge me like that. Every once in while I _do_ go places where I need a fine pair of shoes." She shot a glance at Kimball. "Not just diners."

"Can you bring them down without hurting anyone?"

"I'm on it, Teresa." Capp said. She turned to Kimball and pinched his arm. "Come on, Rascal. Let's get the control boxes."

"Anything you say, Nymph."

Capp and Kimball hurried to her car, while Henry left to coordinate the newly-arrived police officers. Teresa found herself alone now with Wayne and Grace.

"Where did Jane go?" asked Grace.

"I wish I knew," said Teresa.

At that moment, a commotion began at the edge of the park. People who had gazed upward at the drone now pointed and stared at something around the bend of the sidewalk. Hooting and hollering commenced, and the crowd surged in that direction.

Waving to the crowd as he walked into sight came Patrick Jane. Three figures flanked him - a giant furry creature tap dancing, a neon-green humanoid pointing a ray gun, and a man wearing a pastel blue polyester leisure suit.

Teresa's jaw dropped.

"Jane always did have the most unique friends," said Grace.

* * *

><p>To be continued.<p>

* * *

><p>Author's notes:<p>

Johnny Mercer wrote "Something's Gotta Give" in 1954, and Frank Sinatra recorded my favorite version on his album, _Come Dance With Me!_ Another favorite version is Ella Fitzgerald's on her album, _Ella Fitzgerald Sings The Johnny Mercer Songbook_.

Up next: "They Can't Take That Away From Me"


	15. They Can't Take That Away From Me

Author's notes:

Thank you to two great writers and friends, **make-mine-a-kiaora** and **Sue Shay**, for their help. Be sure to check out their stories - I have favorited them in my profile for easy access.

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

><p>Chapter 15 - "They Can't Take That Away From Me"<p>

* * *

><p>Patrick Jane and the three strange figures walked up to Teresa Lisbon followed by a gaggle of gawkers.<p>

"So, how's it going, Teresa?" Despite the volatile situation, Patrick's bad-boy grin made Teresa respond in kind.

"Fair-to-middling. Who did you bring with you?"

Teresa took a closer look at the three. The hairy creature, wearing taps on a pair of spit-polished black loafers, swung his arms back-and-forth as his feet danced in a tight circle. The green humanoid female stood beside him in a form-fitting leotard that barely contained her. When the hairy creature stopped dancing to stare at her cleavage, the humanoid pointed her ray gun at his head. Off to the side the man in the blue leisure suit tossed $100 bills of play money into the air, and children scurried to snatch them up as they floated to earth.

Patrick stepped aside and motioned for the three figures to move forward.

"Allow me to make introductions, Teresa. May I present Deverell College students Seth, Fiona, and Gilbert, otherwise known as Bigfoot, Space Thang, and D. B. Cooper."

Each took a bow in turn. Teresa noticed that Wayne's attention had focused on Gilbert, the one that Patrick called "D. B. Cooper." Clearing his throat, Wayne spoke to Gilbert.

"So, who exactly are you? _Mr. Disco Man_?"

Before Gilbert could answer, Patrick scowled and replied.

"No, Wayne. Come on. _He's D. B. Cooper!_ 1970s air pirate. Bailed out of a Boeing 727 somewhere over the Pacific Northwest with $200,000. He was never seen again."

"Never heard of him." Wayne scratched his head.

Patrick sighed.

"Look it up on Wikipedia sometime, Wayne." Patrick turned his attention to his wife. "Teresa, our three friends here are theater majors. They'll get the crowd under control."

Teresa crossed her arms, but she knew Patrick could see the smile that he coaxed from her lips.

"And how's that, Hubby?"

"The good citizens of Cannon River don't yet realize it, but the drones above and our three friends below are promoting the civic event of the year, my dear."

"And what would that event be?" Teresa asked.

"_Cannon River Crazy Days_. It has a ring to it, don't you think?"

Patrick rocked back and forth on his feet with his chest puffed out. Teresa recognized that pose as her husband's _I-got-this-figured-out-and-aren't-you-proud-of-me_ stance. With a wave, she addressed the three students.

"Why don't you guys mingle with the crowd then?"

Bigfoot spoke up.

"Yes, ma'am. We're excited. This is the biggest crowd we've played to since the birthday party for Professor Martelli's daughter. And it's a paid gig too!"

"Paid?" Teresa shot a glance at Patrick.

"Ah, yeah. Chief Lisbon and I will work out the details for you guys. You just go ahead and fan out in the crowd," said Patrick.

"Thanks, Professor!" said Bigfoot. He started to put his arm around Space Thang, and she raised her ray gun to tap against his chin.

"Back off, Fuzzball."

"Let's go guys. I only brought ten packs of play money and I've already gone through two of them," said D. B. Cooper.

As the three walked through the park, they drew onlookers like a magnet. People of all ages dropped their gaze from the drones to the students. Oohs and aahs sounded from onlookers as one or another of them performed a routine.

For the first time that afternoon, Teresa laughed as she turned to Patrick.

"So, the three of them are gonna get paid for their work?"

"They're worth every penny if they quell the crowd."

"And where is this money coming from, Hubby?"

"Well, since we're married you're not paying me that consulting fee any more. I figured you could use some of your savings from that."

Loud applause drew Teresa's attention. The three students were square dancing with some children. While D. B. Cooper spun around, play money fluttered out of his pockets.

Teresa nodded.

"I'll just put the payment under 'Crowd Control' in the budget."

"Excellent idea, my dear."

While Teresa and Patrick watched the students, Henry ran up. Almost losing his balance, he skidded to a stop in front of them. As he spoke he wheezed.

"Annabelle. Annabelle just... Heeeeeeeeee. Annabelle just… Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee."

Teresa put her hand on Henry's arm to steady him.

"Deep breaths, Henry. Deep breaths."

Henry nodded. For a moment, he ceased his struggle to get words out of his mouth. His gaze darted between Teresa and her husband. Taking in a big gulp of air, he began again.

"Annabelle just called. She's at home. Something's got her concerned."

"She's at the apartment building?"

"Yes ma'am. I need to check on her. Please?" Henry asked.

Teresa patted his arm.

"You go. Let me know what you find out from Annabelle."

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you."

As Henry turned to leave, Patrick glanced at Teresa.

"I'm going with Henry. We'll see what's up at River Manor."

Teresa watched the two men walk at a rapid pace to Henry's squad car. At the same time, Capp and Kimball reappeared. While they walked toward Teresa, Capp fiddled with switches on the control box that she carried. Kimball followed her carrying two more. When they arrived in front of Teresa, Wayne and Grace rejoined the group as well.

"We'll need to capture each drone's frequency one-by-one. It's a good thing I had three boxes in my car trunk," said Capp.

"You go ahead. I'm gonna take Henry's place coordinating the officers."

With that, Teresa walked toward the throng of people around the students. Now even her officers laughed along with the crowd. While D. B. Cooper shook play money out of his coat pockets, Bigfoot kept trying to get Space Thang to dance with him. In response, Space Thang poked her ray gun against his stomach.

"Keep your hands to yourself, Fuzzball," she said.

Bigfoot put up his hands in surrender. When she lowered the ray gun, he resumed dancing by himself. In a few moments though, he stopped, shot a sad look over to Space Thang, and held out his hand again.

"Please, Fiona. _I mean Space Thang._ Pu-lease?"

Space Thang started to shake her head "no," but then she inhaled a deep breath, dropped her ray gun, and took Bigfoot's hand.

"Alright Seth. Just a waltz. No tango. And no way am I twerking."

The two began their ballroom dance while D. B. Cooper hummed Strauss' _Blue Danube Waltz_ beside them. The crowd broke into applause for the couple.

Teresa chuckled. It felt good.

_Patrick Jane to the rescue once again_ she thought.

* * *

><p>Over by the soccer field, Kimball Cho watched Capp Grainger work her magic on the control boxes. Her fingers danced across the boxes as she wielded her screwdriver. For each of the three she opened the bottom. Once she had access inside, Capp fiddled with the wiring on them one-by-one to "capture" the frequency of each drone. When she finished the first, she rose to her feet, walked over to Wayne Rigsby, and handed him the control box. With Grace and Kimball looking over his shoulders, Capp gave instructions.<p>

"Ease the joystick around while you gently lower the altitude stick. Like this." The first drone broke out of formation. It began a lazy circle in the air as it slowly lost altitude. "You try it, Wayne."

Capp removed her hands from the control box to let Wayne take over. At first the drone bobbled in the air. In a few moments though, Wayne steadied it as his drone resumed its wide clockwise arc.

"I think I've got the hang of this." Wayne looked like a little boy who'd just unwrapped a birthday present.

"Good. Now to get Grace's control box set up." Capp glanced at Kimball. "Whoever sent these drones here put them on auto-pilot. Wayne's not getting any resistance to taking control of his. Let's take care of the other two."

In a flash of speed, Capp captured the frequency of the next drone. She brought the second control box to Grace, and the two women worked together to get Grace's drone to respond. Soon enough hers began to fly in a counter-clockwise arc a few meters above Wayne's.

"This is fun!" Grace said while she stood next to her husband.

As Wayne and Grace continued, they gained confidence. By the time his drone touched the ground, Wayne had mastered the controls so much that he brought it to rest at his feet.

"Hooray! Yippee! All right!"

None of them noticed but a crowd had gathered around them. Children from the playground, adults walking their dogs, and people of all ages who had come to see the drones collected for the show. Now they broke into applause as Wayne took a bow.

"Ha! I'm not gonna let you hog all the limelight for yourself, Wayne," said Grace. A flick of the controls sent her drone skimming the surface of the lake like a stone skipping across it. A few ducks quacked in surprise as it passed by. Decreasing speed, it came to a full stop at Grace's feet just like Wayne's had. The crowd responded with a louder round of applause, and Grace took her own bow.

Kimball looked in the sky once again. One more drone remained aloft. The crowd shifted their gaze up to it while Capp worked on the third control box. When she handed it to Kimball, he took it and began the same slow, downward arc with the his drone that Wayne and Grace had used on the other two.

Capp stepped behind him. A pair of arms wrapped around Kimball's, and a pair of soft yet firm hands covered his own. Beside his ear, a pair of lips whispered in a throaty voice.

"Let's give these good people a real performance, why don't we?" asked Capp.

"Show me what to do," said Kimball.

Their hands working together, Kimball and Capp guided the drone in a loop-d-loop. Its sides glistened in the sun as it raced through the sky. The fast-paced speed of the loops drew gasps from the crowd.

Kimball felt Capp's lips brush against his ear then hum.

"The crowd seemed to like that. Do you think they'd enjoy a barrel roll?"

"Go ahead. I'm putty in your hands," said Kimball.

The drone flipped over and over as he heard more gasps from the spectators.

"How about a little personal touch?" Capp punctuated her whisper by tugging on Kimball's ear lobe with lips.

"You know I'm up for that," said Kimball.

The drone swooped down across the duck pond at a speed that took people by surprise. A smattering of gasps arose again. With the lightest of touches across Kimball's hands, Capp throttled down the drone's speed until it barely stayed air-worthy. Then it inched its way across the shoreline to where a woman holding a baby stood watching. The drone froze a foot or so in front of the mother and child, its wings bobbing in the breeze that wafted off the water. The baby stretched out his hand and smacked the nose of the drone. When he did it wiggled in the air. The baby laughed and clapped his hands.

Turning the drone around, Kimball and Capp guided it to them. Capp squeezed Kimball's hands. Then she guided his hands across the controls so that the drone rotated to face the crowd. With a final flutter of its wings, the drone mimicked taking a bow and settled to the turf next to where Wayne and Grace had landed theirs.

"Bravo! Hooray! Magnificent!"

The shouts, whistles, and applause of the crowd drowned out any other sounds. Kimball grasped Capp's arm and turned them both to face the onlookers. After a nod, they took their own bow.

Kimball had never felt so alive as he did at that moment. He and Capp looked at each other, and an understanding passed between them. Setting down the control box, he laced his fingers between hers, and they leaned together. Their lips touching like the wisp of a spring breeze on skin, they held their kiss. He and Capp both knew what they wanted. As they broke apart, Kimball opened his eyes to look at his future. What looked back at him were a pair of blue eyes that sparkled.

_She feels the same way I do._

As Kimball's arms drew her to him for a deeper kiss, a buzzing noise sounded. He and Capp both looked down at her jeans pocket. With a sigh, she extracted her phone. Stepping back from Kimball, Capp clicked the receive button.

"Hello, Jace…I'm on vacation…I _don't_ want to be bothered right now…No, Jace…find someone else…What?…Oh no, not that bad…No, no, not Kathryn…" Kimball saw Capp's eyes water. "…and Rich too? No, no, no. This can't be…They can't be…" Capp's tears were falling in a steady stream. "…Have you told their families?…I met Rich's wife Laura and their family last year…They've got two, an eight-year-old and a five-year-old…What do you mean, the mission isn't complete?…How many are left?…Don't say that…Please, Jace, I don't want to do this anymore…I've, I've, I've got someone in my life now…" Capp blinked through her tears to look at Kimball. "No!…I want out, Jace. This isn't what I want to do anymore. Don't say that, Jace. Please don't. Nothing can be done for them now. No, don't say that. Please don't say that…" She convulsed in spasms while she struggled to get her breathing under control. "All right. All right. I'll do it. I'm doing it for Kathryn and Rich. But if I make it back I'm moving to that desk job. The one you promised me. Arrange to have someone fly in to SeaTac to pick me up. I'll meet with you on-site in five hours. Brief me then, Jace."

She clicked her phone off. Kimball lifted his hand to her face to wipe off her tears. Seizing his wrist, she brought his fingers to her lips.

"Kimball, I've got to…"

"I know."

"It's…it's…it's bad. Just so bad. And I can't tell you anything. Kathryn and Rich, my friends, they were…"

"You don't have to say any more."

"But there's so much I want to say to you, Kimball. There's so much I need to say…"

He grasped her in a hug. She clung to him tight enough to squeeze the air from his chest.

"And you can. You will. I'll wait for you," said Kimball.

"You don't understand. In 24 hours I'll likely be…"

"I love you, Nymph."

She pulled back and their eyes met.

"I love you too, Rascal."

He kissed her again.

"Good. Then it's settled. You'll find a way back. We'll be together."

Her hand gripped his like a vise.

"How do you know I can make it back?"

"Because you once found an FBI agent out of ammo in a wheat field and saved his ass."

In the blink of an eye, her devilish grin appeared through her tears.

"I only saved it 'cause it was such a fine ass."

"Don't go getting naughty with me right now. Save it for when you get back."

Capp squeezed his hand.

"I _will_ find a way. I'll come back to you, Kimball Cho."

"Me and my ass will be waiting for you, Cappadocia Grainger."

With a final kiss they broke apart and Capp walked to her car. She waved to the Rigsbys and Teresa as she passed them. The instant before she closed her car door, she glanced one more time at Kimball and smiled.

Despite their brave words, he felt her ride out of his life once more.

* * *

><p>Teresa Lisbon watched a scene that had taken on a festive atmosphere. Winding their way through the crowd, the three students stopped to talk with people and pose for photos. A few onlookers gathered to watch Officers Albury and Hinks load the three drones into a police van.<p>

Now that peace had returned, a thought struck Teresa: _Why did Capp leave in such a hurry?_ Walking around the park, she spied Kimball and Wayne sitting on a bench away from everyone else. Wanting to know what happened to Capp, Teresa walked toward them. Then she froze. Wayne had his hand on Kimball's shoulder. Although she couldn't make out any words, Teresa heard the low tone of Wayne's voice. She recognized that tone. It was the same one a cop at a crime scene - or a friend during bad times - consoled someone with.

Hunched over, Kimball had his face down in the palms of his hands. Wayne continued in his soothing voice as he patted his friend's back. Looking up, Wayne's eyes met Teresa's. He shook his head. Teresa halted her approach to the bench.

_The last thing Kimball would want is for someone other than Wayne to see him like that _she thought.

As Teresa turned to go back to the open field in the park, she saw that Grace had joined her. The two women nodded at each other. Whatever had happened, they exchanged an unspoken message of sympathy for Kimball and Capp.

"Have you heard anything from Jane?" Grace asked.

_Jane_. For a moment she had forgotten that her husband had gone with Henry.

"No. I oughtta check on him." As she pulled her phone out, it rang. Looking at the screen, Teresa smiled. "Speak of the devil. Here he is now."

Grace snorted.

"Remember you're the one that called him that, not me."

Teresa clicked to receive the call.

"Hey, Hubby. What's up?"

"_I've got good news and bad news, Teresa._"

Patrick Jane's voice carried a tone that she first heard years ago at CBI. Her whole body tensed. Something had happened. She sighed as she made a decision.

"Tell me the good news first."

"_The good news is that the case is wrapped up,_" said Patrick.

"And what's the bad news?"

* * *

><p>To be continued.<p>

* * *

><p>George and Ira Gershwin wrote "They Can't Take That Away From Me" in 1937, and my favorite version is Frank Sinatra's on his album, <em>Songs For Young Lovers<em>.

Up next: "One For My Baby"


	16. One For My Baby

Author's notes:

Thank you to two great writers and friends, **make-mine-a-kiaora** and **Sue Shay**, for their help. Be sure to check out their stories - I have favorited them in my profile for easy access.

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

**Please note:** The action in this chapter begins an hour before Patrick Jane (aka Professor Marbray) called Teresa Lisbon.

**Please note:** The final four chapters, Chapter 16 (_"One For My Baby"_), Chapter 17 (_"Gimmie Three Steps"_), Chapter 18 (_"Cheerful Little Earful"_), and Chapter 19 (_"Something With A Ring To It"_) are published all at the same time.

* * *

><p>Chapter 16 - "One For My Baby"<p>

* * *

><p><em>An hour before the phone call…<em>

What Henry wanted was simple - he just wanted to make sure that Annabelle was alright. Why did worry gnaw at his stomach? Was it the catch in her voice when they had talked on the phone? Or was it the whole swirl of events that started with the drone outside their window? Or was it Annabelle's skill at observation - something she'd learned as an EMT - that discerned something was afoot at River Manor Apartments?

Henry and Professor Marbray remained silent on their drive over to the apartment building. That was so unlike the two of them. Most often they carried on a steady stream of conversation. Once Henry glanced over at the professor to find him stroking his chin.

_Marbray's fitting the puzzle together_ he thought.

Henry pulled his squad car a bit too fast into a parking slot. The low-hanging metal guard on the car's undercarriage scraped across the concrete barrier at the far end of the space. Then the front wheels slammed into the barrier and bucked up on top of it. Without thinking, Henry threw the transmission into reverse and the car jerked backwards. Coming off the barrier produced one more bone-jarring jolt. Although shaken, Henry punched the heel of his left foot on the parking brake, shifted the transmission to "P," and shut off the engine. Yanking the key out of the ignition, he glanced over to the passenger seat to see Professor Marbray. With his left hand, the professor pushed back against the dashboard. With his right hand, the professor held onto the hand grip above the passenger side window.

"Sorry, Professor. I guess I got carried away."

"No problem, Henry. I…"

"I've gotta get inside and check on Annabelle." He cut off Marbray as the two exited the car.

Henry sprinted ahead of the professor to the front door of the building. What he found there looked normal. Nothing seemed amiss. Sure the light bulb on the far right of the door frame had burned out, but it had been that way for months. Henry had complained five times to Owen Myer, the apartment manager, to replace it. Each time Myer had waved off Henry with an "_I'll get around to it_" that really meant "_I couldn't care less about it_." The off-kilter darkness at the edge of the door now gave a sinister cast to the entrance.

Henry slung the heavy door open. Its handle clanged against the brick wall to the right, and the door bounced back to slam into Henry's shoulder. He flinched.

"Are you okay, Henry?" He heard the professor's voice as Marbray caught up with him.

Henry took a deep breath.

"Yes, sir. I guess I'm just on edge. Being an expectant father and all that."

"I understand, Henry. Let's keep moving."

The two men went inside, scanning the hallway for any activity. They found none.

"Looks like everyone's gone to the park, Professor."

"You did say half the police force lived here, didn't you?"

"Yep. There must have been a mad dash when Chief Lisbon called everyone in. And the non-cops who live here must have seen all the Facebook and Twitter posts and whatnot. It doesn't seem like anyone's here."

The two men climbed the stairs. When Henry entered the third floor hallway, he froze. At the other end, the door to his apartment swayed. The professor saw it and halted as well.

"I take it Annabelle isn't in the habit of leaving the door open," said the professor.

"No, sir."

The two men crept down the hall. As he moved, Henry's hand went by instinct to check his sidearm. The thought of drawing his weapon put him more on edge. At the door, they peeked into the apartment.

"Annabelle. Annabelle! Annabelle? Are you here?" Henry's voice trembled as his hands shook.

No response came. Henry looked around the room. Nothing seemed amiss, yet something was wrong. What? Once, twice, three times he scanned the living room. He fingered his gun. Taking a deep breath, he moved around the apartment. He still found nothing.

"Her coffee is warm."

Henry jerked his head around. Professor Marbray stood by the kitchen table, his fingers touching a mug. Beside the mug, a half-eaten peanut butter-and-jelly sandwich rested on a plate.

"I'm worried, Professor."

Marbray grasped Henry's shoulder to jostle it.

"Henry. Don't let your unease get the better of you. You're a trained police officer."

Henry took a deep breath then nodded to the professor.

"Let's go see the manager, Owen Myer."

Looking around as they made their way down to Myer's first floor office, the men found no sign of Annabelle. At the bottom of the stairs, Henry froze again. The door to Myer's office stood ajar. Henry hadn't noticed that when they came in. Something he couldn't discern was wrong, and he felt his hand tremble again. By reflex, he reached down to pat his sidearm. Henry glanced at the professor, and he could read Marbray well enough now to see that the professor was worried too.

With as little pressure as he could use, Henry pushed the door open. He found an empty office. Nothing. Although still worried about Annabelle, Henry relaxed a little. Then he saw the floor beside the desk. In an instant he drew his revolver, his hand shaking so much he could hardly steady it.

"Professor…" Henry's voice trembled.

Marbray circled around Henry and stooped down to examine blood on the floor. Then he cast his gaze around. Looking up at Henry, the professor pointed at the carpet.

"There was a shooting that occurred here, and these flecks of red are more blood stains. Someone dragged a body out of this office."

Henry reached for his phone to call for backup. As he was pressing the button to call, something distracted him. A squeak. For anyone else in world, the sliver of noise would only be a snippet of a human voice. But for Henry, it meant everything.

"Annabelle!"

Henry brushed past Professor Marbray as he ran into the hall. Looking up and down, he decided her voice had come from the far end, at the rear of the building. Henry ran that way. In the background he heard the thump-thump-thump of the professor's footsteps as he followed.

At the end of the hall was the doorway that led to the basement. Now Henry thrust open the door. He scurried along the dark corridor that ended at the stairway to the basement. His shoulders brushed against the rough concrete of the tight walls. Claustrophobia made him nauseous, but Henry pressed on.

Ahead Henry saw that a dim light glowed from below in the basement. When he came to the stairs, he didn't hesitate. Thinking only of Annabelle, Henry bounded down the steps with the professor close behind.

What he found made Henry come to a dead stop.

"Stop right there, officer." A man who looked vaguely familiar held his arm around Annabelle's shoulders.

Annabelle trembled with fear, her eyes pleading to be free. When Henry glanced around the room, he gasped. A body lay on the floor amid a puddle of blood. He gasped again when he recognized who it was - Owen Myer.

"Dirk Trumble. You said you never left your compound." Professor Marbray's voice behind Henry addressed the man holding Annabelle.

"I had reason to leave. I thought no one would interrupt my work. Too bad this woman heard the noise."

"Let Annabelle go." Henry didn't know he could utter words in that strong a voice until that moment.

"I have no quarrel with any of you. Not with this Annabelle, not with the professor, not with you…" Trumble squinted to look at Henry's name plate. "…Officer Karson. But I insist that you let me go about my work. Drop your weapon."

"Sir, release her at once or…"

Trumble jerked his right hand out from behind his body. In a vise-like grip he held a pistol. Raising the pistol, he pushed the barrel against Annabelle's cheek.

"Officer, you and the professor will move back. I must finish what I started. Then I will leave the three of you alone. I ask you again to drop you weapon." His eyes compressed to slivers. "If you do not, I will take action. There will be more unpleasantness."

Trumble pushed his pistol harder against Annabelle's face. Henry set his gun on the floor. Then Trumble eased up, lowering the pistol. Even though the gun no longer pointed at her, Annabelle convulsed in shudders of fear. She moaned.

Seeing his wife in danger and the gun lowered for a moment, Henry acted. Was it an impulse? Yes. Was it something he'd think through more clearly if anyone else was the hostage? Yes. Did he regret what happened next? Yes.

The instant Henry began his forward motion he knew he'd made a mistake. A big, terrible mistake. As he closed the distance between himself and Trumble, Henry saw Trumble raise his gun towards him.

The last thing Henry saw was a flash of motion. The last thing he heard was Annabelle's scream. The last thing he felt was searing pain.

Then his world went black.

* * *

><p>To be continued.<p>

* * *

><p>Author's notes:<p>

Harold Arlen and Johnny Mercer wrote "One For My Baby" in 1943, and Ella Fitzgerald recorded my favorite version on her album, _Ella Fitzgerald Sings the Harold Arlen Songbook_.

Readers interested in the music used as chapter titles in the story can check out the playlist "_Mentalist - Cheerful Little Earful - playlist for fanfic_" in Youtube.

Thank you for reading the story and I'd love to hear from you.

Up next: "Gimmie Three Steps"


	17. Gimmie Three Steps

Author's notes:

Thank you to two great writers and friends, **make-mine-a-kiaora** and **Sue Shay**, for their help. Be sure to check out their stories - I have favorited them in my profile for easy access.

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

**Please note:** The final four chapters, Chapter 16 (_"One For My Baby"_), Chapter 17 (_"Gimmie Three Steps"_), Chapter 18 (_"Cheerful Little Earful"_), and Chapter 19 (_"Something With A Ring To It"_) are published all at the same time.

* * *

><p>Chapter 17 - "Gimmie Three Steps"<p>

* * *

><p>The first thing Henry felt was pain. Throbbing, pulsing pain. On the side of his face.<p>

The second thing Henry felt was tightness. Around his wrists. Something bound his hands together.

The third thing Henry felt softness. A hand brushed across his face. Someone was caressing him.

And that someone was cooing to him.

"Henry. Oh, my Henry."

It was Annabelle.

"Trumble, why don't you untie her so she can tend to her husband? She won't try anything, and she's an EMT." Henry heard Professor Marbray's voice nearby.

"No. Shut up, Marbray. You should be glad I didn't just shoot him…or all three of you for that matter." Trumble looked at Henry.

When Henry got his bearings again, he realized that his head was resting on Annabelle's shoulder. He needed to see what was going on. Raising up, he moaned.

"Take it easy, Henry." Annabelle voice carried a mix of concern and command. Henry turned his gaze to her to find that she looked back at him with wet eyes.

"Listen to your wife, Officer Karson. I should have shot you when you lunged at me," said Trumble.

"But you didn't shoot him, did you, Trumble? That speaks well of you." Professor Marbray broke into the conversation.

"Shut up, Marbray. I hope my hitting him with the gun barrel impressed on all of you that you need to let me finish my work."

Henry looked around. He and Annabelle, their hands tied, sat on a bench. Professor Marbray, his hands tied as well, stood between them and Trumble. Trumble himself stood by the far wall of the basement, picking at it with a crowbar.

Marbray took a step to his left - and fell to the floor, knocking a half-empty whiskey bottle off the table next to him. The bottle shattered as it clanged to the floor. Trumble wheeled around, gun raised. When he saw the professor sprawled on the floor, he lowered his gun and groaned.

"I should have shot you too, Marbray. I don't need your silly distractions."

"Ease up, Trumble. Since my hands are tied, I lost my balance." Henry heard the professor scrap his hands behind him. "Give me a second to get up."

Trumble waved the gun at Marbray to hurry him along. As Marbray struggled to get off the floor, he kept his hands out of Trumble's sight. Henry could see them though. He spied something shiny in the professor's hand - a shard of glass from the broken whiskey bottle.

"I don't trust you, Marbray. Stand right there."

"Yes, sir. You're the man with the gun."

"Remain still. If you interrupt me again, I will shoot you."

Trumble went back to tapping on the wall with the crowbar. Marbray looked over to Henry and Annabelle. He winked. From where Henry was sitting, he could see Marbray's hands pushing and pulling the edge of the broken glass across the rope that bound them.

"I've figured out what you're doing Trumble. You've orchestrated quite a bit."

"Ugh-huh." Trumble grunted while he concentrated on the wall.

"You sent those three big drones over the city park to distract the townspeople and the police," said Marbray.

Trumble glanced at the professor. "Obviously I didn't do a complete job if the three of you are here with me."

"You were surveying this building with that original drone."

"Yes."

"Looking for something."

"I suspect you know now what I was looking for."

"Fitzgerald Cumming's collection of 78rpm records."

"Correct."

Henry glanced at Professor Marbray's hands. The shard of glass had begun to fray the edges of the rope around his hands.

"You had Owen Myer working for you too - from the inside."

"Yes."

"Not that I'm disappointed, but why did you kill him and not us?"

"I did not wish to take his life. I do not wish to take your lives. However, Myer got greedy. He tried to renegotiate our deal. I cannot tolerate that in any aspect of my life."

"He wouldn't reveal the exact location of the vault until he got a better deal, would he?" asked Marbray.

"Myer had a simple mind. He didn't realize that he had already given away the general location of the vault."

"You knew from what he told you that it was here in the basement."

"Yes. Further, he tried to blackmail me. Myer failed to realize that after today I cared not who knew what I had done."

"Fitzgerald Cummings didn't die a natural death, did he, Trumble?" asked Marbray.

"No. It looked like a heart attack. The reality was that I had dinner with Cummings in New York. I slipped a liquid into his Earl Grey tea that mimicked a heart attack. With his health history and his advanced age, no one suspected foul play."

"It's a sin to kill a man with a hot cup of tea." Marbray scrunched up his nose. Despite their dicey situation, Henry chuckled to himself. The professor took his tea seriously, and Trumble's use of it to poison Cummings irked him.

Trumble shrugged his shoulders.

"By any means needed is my mantra, Professor."

"Why kill Cummings?" asked Marbray.

Henry glimpsed the professor's hand as it continued to work the shard of glass across the ropes.

"Greed again, Marbray. I had befriended Cummings. I moved into the house here in town for the purpose of getting to know him." Trumble stopped working and turned to Marbray. "Believe it or not, I did not wish to hurt him."

"Yet you did."

"Did you not hear me before? I did it because of his greed. And arrogance."

"Because he wouldn't sell you his record collection?"

"The general collection was nice, but all I wanted were his 78s of Perk Perez. Those records brought him to my attention," said Trumble.

"What I don't understand is why you've gone to all this trouble to get them. Even if the 78s are collector's items, you've spent millions to get at them. Far more they'll ever be worth even at auction."

Henry heard Trumble's voice catch before he replied to Professor Marbray.

"Those records mean more to me than all the riches I ever gained. Did I not make clear to you and Chief Lisbon that this world holds no allure to me anymore?"

"So this has to do with your wife."

Trumble wiped a tear from his eye with the sleeve of his shirt.

"I told you that my wife gave meaning to my life. Without her, I live in an empty shell."

"I still don't understand the connection between your wife and Perk Perez."

"Her voice." Trumble halted his work and sighed.

"What?" asked Marbray. Trumble's words perplexed Henry too.

"Do you remember when I told you the circumstances of my wife's death? The car wreck?" Henry saw Marbray nod. "Evangeline was on her way to record her voice for the first time. All those years I had dissuaded her from doing so."

"But…"

"But then she died. And I was bereft of the only person I ever cared for in life. Gone. And by my own selfish need to keep Evangeline all to myself, I never let my wife record her voice. In denying her to the world, I denied myself."

Thump. Thump. Whack. Trumble banged the crowbar harder on the wall. Henry saw a vein raise on Trumble's forehead, and the skin on his knuckles paled as he gripped the crowbar harder. Henry glanced at Annabelle to see her face creased with even greater wrinkles of worry. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Professor Marbray work more furiously at the ropes around his hands.

"You still haven't told me the connection to the Perk Perez records." Marbray kept up a cool tone while his hands worked on his ropes.

Thwack. Trumble slammed the crowbar against a random spot on the wall.

"Perk Perez' recorded voice is as close to my wife's as I can ever get. Evangeline's voice teacher told us about Perez and how their two voices sounded alike. The short snippets of Perez' voice that I heard confirmed that."

"Your problem is that Perez left hardly any recordings, at least publicly."

Trumble nodded.

"Correct. I began to hunt down anything that Perez left behind. I heard rumors that she had in fact recorded a series songs on a small record label. Those rumors proved true."

"And Cummings had those recordings."

"A complete set. And among that set was the Perez version of 'Cheerful Little Earful.'"

"That means something special to you, doesn't it?" asked Marbray.

"Evangeline loved it. Each year on our anniversary she woke me in the morning with that song then sang me to sleep with it that night."

Henry saw Marbray slow his pace of sawing on the ropes for a moment.

"I'm sorry, Trumble."

Trumble wiped his eyes.

"So you see, professor, I have to do this. I have to salvage the recordings."

"You didn't have to do it this way."

Whamp. Trumble banged the crowbar so hard against the wall that broke through.

"Do you not remember how Cummings refused to deal with me?"

"But once you get the recordings, what will you do with them? You'll be a wanted man."

"It doesn't matter. I made plans. When I leave here with the records, I will helicopter out of my compound. A ship awaits to take me to exile. Somewhere beyond this country's extradition pull."

"But you'll leave behind…" Marbray couldn't finish his thought because Trumble cut him off.

"I leave behind nothing of value to me. All I care about is the memory of my wife. I want to be alone with her memory and my agony."

"I pity you."

"If you want you and your friends to live, you'll shut up. You distract me. Yours and Chief Lisbon's inquiry hastened my plans."

Trumble focused on a corner of the wall behind a table. Moving closer, he pulled out the table. Behind it was a small latch. Trumble stuck the crowbar through the latch and tugged until it broke.

"If I were you, I'd be careful," said Marbray.

Trumble raised his gun at the professor.

"You are in no position to tell me what to do and what not to do."

Marbray refused to be cowed by Trumble.

"If that's Cummings vault, no doubt it's booby-trapped. He designed a smaller one for his daughter's office. That one's booby-trapped."

Henry remembered what Marbray told him about Isadore Totty's vault at Deverell College.

Trumble grabbed the collar of Marbray's shirt to pull him close. He jammed the gun barrel under the professor's chin.

"My patience with you has almost run out." Trumble tugged lightly on his gun. "Shut up."

Marbray nodded.

"I will. But I did warn you."

Trumble released the professor and stuck his gun back in his pocket. As Trumble turned back to the vault, Henry saw a flash of movement that Trumble didn't. His hands now freed from the ropes, Marbray slipped his fingers into Trumble's pocket and pulled out the gun.

Eager to get into the vault, Trumble focused all his attention there. He yanked open the door to peer inside. Reaching in, he pulled out a vinyl record. After a moment of close inspection, he let out a cry.

"Yes! I found it." Trumble's eyes grew wide as he held the record aloft.

Before Marbray could do anything with the gun, the sound of a buzzer sliced through the air. Trumble, Marbray, Annabelle, and Henry all looked around. The smile plastered across Trumble's face fell.

With a loud rumble, the whole basement began to shake. Dust began to drift down from the ceiling, and rocks that formed the wall on the unfinished section of the basement came loose and fell to the ground. Wooden beams above them creaked then snapped.

"You may have just killed us all," said Professor Marbray as dust began to cover his shoulders and hair. He moved away from Trumble and towards Henry and Annabelle.

"What are you doing?" asked Trumble as he reached in vain for the gun that used to be in his pocket.

"Moving three steps away from you, you idiot."

A large rock lodged above the vault came loose. Before Trumble could react, it crashed down on his head. A rain of timber, bricks, and rocks fell from the rafters. The last thing Henry saw was Professor Marbray hurling himself on top of Henry and Annabelle.

Then Henry's world went black. Again.

* * *

><p>To be continued.<p>

* * *

><p>Author's notes:<p>

Allen Collins and Ronnie Van Zant wrote "Gimmie Three Steps," and the band Lynyrd Skynyrd recorded it_._

Readers interested in the music used as chapter titles in the story can check out the playlist "_Mentalist - Cheerful Little Earful - playlist for fanfic_" in Youtube.

Thank you for reading the story and I'd love to hear from you.

Up next: "Cheerful Little Earful"


	18. Cheerful Little Earful

Author's notes:

Thank you to two great writers and friends, **make-mine-a-kiaora** and **Sue Shay**, for their help. Be sure to check out their stories - I have favorited them in my profile for easy access.

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

**Please note:** The final four chapters, Chapter 16 (_"One For My Baby"_), Chapter 17 (_"Gimmie Three Steps"_), Chapter 18 (_"Cheerful Little Earful"_), and Chapter 19 (_"Something With A Ring To It"_) are published all at the same time.

* * *

><p>Chapter 18 - "Cheerful Little Earful"<p>

* * *

><p>Where was he? Henry felt as if once more he had awoken from a stupor. He tried to move yet was hemmed in on all sides.<p>

In semi-darkness, Henry felt something - _someone_ - soft next to him. His guess that it was Annabelle proved correct. He heard her familiar voice groan. He tried to reach out to her, but a weight pressed down on him from above.

The weight shifted and Henry heard a grunt. Someone moved above Henry, and the weight rolled off of him. He felt relief when he heard Marbray's cough.

Slowly the situation made sense to Henry. The basement had collapsed all around them, and the professor threw himself on top of Henry and Annabelle to protect them.

Professor Marbray raised himself up and turned around. Extending both his hands, he pulled Henry and Annabelle to their feet. With the professor's help and a shard of broken glass, Henry and Annabelle shed the ropes that had bound their hands. The first thing Henry did was to rub his hand across Annabelle's stomach. She nodded to him that she and baby were alright.

Henry hadn't expected there to be any light, but there was - one bare bulb dangling from a cable as it swayed back and forth above them. The three of them stood in a tight cavern surrounded by debris - wall board, mortar, and building stones. At the same instant, the trio began to brush dust off their clothes and faces.

"How are you guys?" asked Marbray.

Henry saw Annabelle check herself over. Her EMT training came in handy at a moment like this, and after a few moments she nodded to the two men. Reaching for Henry, she pulled him close to examine him. When she touched the side of his face, he flinched.

"Ouch."

Annabelle turned his head so she could kiss his uninjured cheek, and then she circled her arms around Henry to pull him close. Henry decided her embrace was just the medicine he needed to start his recovery.

"We're okay for now. How about you, Professor?" asked Annabelle.

"Never better, folks." Marbray looked around. "We can thank Fitzgerald Cummings for this. Your late landlord did indeed booby-trap his vault. Like I told Trumble, he did the same thing for a vault in Isadore Totty's office."

"Look!" Annabelle pointed to a corner of the open space.

The upper third of Dirk Trumble's body poked out from a pile of rocks. One arm extended outward. In his hand he clutched a 78 rpm record.

Annabelle maneuvered her way around a large rock that jutted out to get to the tight crevice where Trumble lay. Once beside him, she knelt down to press her fingers against his neck. In a moment she looked up to Henry and the professor to shake her head "no."

After Annabelle had made her way back to the open area where Henry and Marbray were, the professor crawled over to Trumble's body. With a gentle motion, Marbray lifted the 78 record from Trumble's fingers. When he returned to the lighted area, he blew dust off it. Holding it near the light bulb, the professor read aloud its label.

"'Cheerful Little Earful' by Perk Perez and the Duluth Swing Orchestra."

"That's what he was looking for, wasn't it?" asked Henry.

"Yep. After all Trumble did, in the end he only grasped at what he sought. A sad end to a sad life." Marbray sighed then rallied. "I suppose we should focus on getting out of here."

"We need to get Henry checked on." Annabelle rubbed her husband's arm as she further inspected his face.

Professor Marbray pulled out his cell phone as Henry and Annabelle sat down on the remnants of a work bench.

"I'm sure Teresa will have us out of here in a jiffy."

"We're buried pretty deep, Professor. Do you think a cell signal can get out?"

"Have confidence, Henry." Henry and Annabelle exchanged glances. "I saw that."

"Saw what, Professor?" asked Annabelle.

"The two of you rolling your eyes. Oh, ye of little faith."

Marbray scowled at them then walked around with the phone to his ear. Every few seconds, he would frown, move two steps to a new spot, and dial again. After six fruitless tries, he at last scrunched his body next to the debris where a window had been. He punched redial. When the professor's expression changed from glum to glad, Henry squeezed Annabelle's hand.

"The professor got a signal," he whispered to his wife.

When Chief Lisbon answered Marbray's call, the professor spoke in a halting voice. Henry recognized it as the tone the professor used when Marbray knew that Lisbon would get stern with him.

"I've got good news and bad news, Teresa…The good news is that the case is wrapped up…The bad news is I'm standing in a caved-in basement with Henry and Annabelle. Oh, and there's also two dead bodies nearby." Marbray held the phone away from his ear as he winced.

"_Sheep dip!"_ Those were the only words that Henry could make out clearly from the other end of the call, but they told him everything he needed to know about the chief's reaction to Marbray's news.

_I can only imagine what Chief Lisbon is saying to her husband_ thought Henry. He watched Marbray as the professor filled in the details for the chief. As he spoke, Marbray's countenance relaxed. Henry took that as a sign that Lisbon had relaxed as well.

"Teresa, does it make a difference that Henry and Annabelle are getting anxious?…Yes…They're sitting here looking at me right now. You should see their mournful faces."

Despite their dire situation and his throbbing temple, Henry snarked at the professor.

"If your wife won't come dig you out, tell her that Annabelle and I would like to get out as soon as we can."

"Did you hear that, Teresa?…Oh, really…You want me to tell them that?" Now the professor was smiling broadly as he looked at Henry and Annabelle. He lowered the phone from his ear. "My wife says I'm in luck. She says since she's digging you two out, she'll let me out of here as well."

Henry recognized the lilt in Marbray's voice. Even though he could only hear the professor's end of the phone call, the couple fell into that light-hearted banter that always reassured Henry. When Lisbon and Marbray talked like that, Henry knew everything would work out just fine.

They were like Henry's parents. When he was a child, the soothing tones of his mother and father chased away any boyhood fears he had. Now Lisbon and Marbray did the same thing. Henry pulled Annabelle close to kiss her then whisper in her ear.

"We'll be safe."

After he finished his report to the chief on all that happened, Professor Marbray ended his call and took a seat on a wooden tool chest across from the couple.

"Teresa's put a team together to dig us out, and we're doubly in luck. Our friend Wayne Rigsby started out his career as an arson investigator. In that job he had to dig around a lot of rubble like what we're in now. He's leading the team."

Only moments after Marbray finished speaking, the sound of shovels clanged above them.

"That's music to my ears, Professor," said Henry.

"Mine too." Marbray looked over at Annabelle with concern. "How are you and your baby holding up, young lady?"

"We're doing fine. I just want a doctor to look at Henry's cheek."

"I'm alright, A.B."

"That's what you always say, Henry. If it wasn't for me watching out for you, there's no telling what trouble you'd get into. You'd be just like Professor Marbray."

The three of them shared a laugh, then fell silent for a few minutes.

Something had gnawed at Henry for a long time, something he wanted to say to Professor Marbray. With all they had gone through, now seemed like the right time. Clearing his throat, Henry got Marbray's attention.

"Professor, I used to wonder about who you really are."

He saw Marbray tense.

"Who I am?"

"Yeah, you've always been a mystery to me - what Chief Lisbon calls you when she's mad at you, why you write papers about conmen and scams and manipulation, and how your wife's friends act around you. But I've found out."

"What have you found out?"

Henry glanced at Annabelle before he answered.

"I've found out that you're a man who loves his family and looks out for his friends. That's all I need to know."

Marbray relaxed then shook his head.

"If you knew the real me, you'd have mixed feelings."

"Like I said Professor, I know all I need to know."

Henry heard the noise of metal breaking through debris. He, the professor, and Annabelle all looked over to where the stairs had once ended. A shovel poked through and began to wallow out a hole. In a few moments the shovel pulled back through the hole, and a metal ladder lowered to the floor of the basement. A smile of triumph appeared on Marbray's face as he pointed to the ladder.

"Henry, Annabelle, in just a few moments Wayne Rigsby will climb down to get us out of here."

* * *

><p>Teresa fidgeted behind Wayne and her officers while they dug through the debris. Was Patrick alright? How badly was Henry hurt? How was a very pregnant Annabelle holding up?<p>

Despite her husband's cheery words, she worried about the three of them. Hearing Wayne break through into the basement, she crawled forward to where he was. Wayne peeked through the hole, turned his face around to Teresa's officers, and yelled to them.

"Somebody get a ladder. An eight-footer should work."

Soon enough there was commotion behind Wayne and Teresa. Warrick Albury slid forward an aluminum ladder that clanged against the floor as it moved. After Wayne lowered the ladder into the basement, Teresa tugged on his sleeve to let her go down first.

Moving through the tight opening, she swung her legs onto the rungs of the ladder and climbed down. The light from the only lamp still working cast an eerie glow around the cramped cavern she found. Looking across the debris, she saw Henry and Annabelle huddled and hugging on one side and her husband sitting across from them - beaming at her. He stood up to greet her. Before he spoke he winked at Henry and Annabelle. Then he turned back to Teresa.

"You don't know how good it is to see you again…Wayne."

That was all Teresa needed to hear to reassure her. She walked over to hug Patrick.

"Ha, ha. Where have I heard that before?" She scrunched down to move over to Henry and Annabelle, kneeling in front of them to look at Henry's bruise. "Are you guys alright?"

It cheered her to hear Henry's voice as strong as it was.

"We're fine, thanks to the professor, ma'am." Annabelle nodded her agreement as she held Henry's hand.

Shovels clanged louder as Wayne and her officers enlarged the hole.

"Let's get you guys out of here," Teresa said to the young couple. Holding each other, Henry and Annabelle made their way to the edge of the open space.

Teresa and Patrick watched as first Annabelle then Henry climbed the ladder. As soon as she got within reach, Wayne grabbed Annabelle's arm to hoist her out. Henry scrambled out next. Teresa called up to Wayne.

"We'll be along in a moment." Alone now, she turned to her husband. "I really should be mad at you."

"I did kind of get into a pickle again, didn't I?"

"'Kind of'? Just 'kind of'?"

"All right, it was a big pickle. But Annabelle, Henry, and I came through safely. Well, aside from that bruise on the side of Henry's face." Her husband pulled on a blackened and torn section of his turtleneck shirt, exposing the skin of his chest underneath. "And this turtleneck you got for me last week."

Teresa moved her hand to stroke his skin where the fabric had split.

"I suppose I could buy you a new shirt."

He smiled.

"I'd like that very much, Teresa. I like wearing a turtleneck shirt. For you."

Teresa realized that her hand had continued to stroke her husband's chest without her even thinking about it.

"I'll get you another one…if you promise to take better care of it."

"I will, Teresa, I will."

She patted him on the chest.

"By the way, what does 'Cheerful Little Earful' mean? I never got around to hearing that song."

"According to the lyricist Ira Gershwin, it's three little words. As a matter of fact, it's those three words you whisper to me every day. The ones that make me smile," said Patrick.

"Ohhhhh. Just to be clear, you mean, 'Jane, you idiot'?"

Her husband was rubbing her arm now.

"No, those other three words we say to each other."

"Oh, you mean _those_ words," said Teresa.

"Yes, _those_ words. Say 'em again."

His eyes sparkled as he waited for her to speak. Instead of saying anything, Teresa placed a hand under Patrick's chin and drew his lips to hers. How long did they remain in the smooch? Teresa lost track of time until she heard a tapping noise from the hole at the top of the cavern. Then the voice of Wayne Rigsby in a mock-stern tone rang through the air.

"Hey, cut that out."

Teresa and Patrick both looked over to find that Wayne and Grace were peeking through the hole. And laughing at them.

Before they walked to the ladder to climb out, Teresa brought her lips beside her husband's ear.

"Patrick, you idiot. I love you."

"And I love you too, Teresa."

* * *

><p>To be continued.<p>

* * *

><p>One more chapter titled "Something With A Ring To It."<p>

Readers interested in the music used as chapter titles in the story can check out the playlist "_Mentalist - Cheerful Little Earful - playlist for fanfic_" in Youtube.

Thank you for reading the story and I'd love to hear from you.


	19. Something With A Ring To It

Author's notes:

**Story and series guide: ** On my Profile page, I've posted a guide to all the _Mentalist_ and _Frasier_ stories and series I've written.

Thank you to two great writers and friends, **make-mine-a-kiaora** and **Sue Shay**, for their help. Be sure to check out their stories - I have favorited them in my profile for easy access.

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

**Please note:** The final four chapters, Chapter 16 (_"One For My Baby"_), Chapter 17 (_"Gimmie Three Steps"_), Chapter 18 (_"Cheerful Little Earful"_), and Chapter 19 (_"Something With A Ring To It"_) are published all at the same time.

* * *

><p>Chapter 19 - "Something With A Ring To It"<p>

* * *

><p><em>2 weeks later in the office of Dr. Isadore Totty, Professor of Music History, Deverell College…<em>

"This is a complete inventory of the hidden trove of 78s that your father had, Isadore. Our officers have transferred it all to your office vault as you requested."

"Teresa, this is more than my father ever let on that he had collected. When the school auctions these 78s, they'll get well into seven figures. It'll be enough to start construction on that fine arts building that Daddy wanted to see built."

"I'm glad you'll be able to honor your father's bequest now."

"This is all because of you and your officers' work, Teresa. On behalf of my family, I want to thank you for finding out the truth about Daddy's death and his collection."

"Isadore, you do know that Archie helped. In fact, we couldn't have solved the case without him piecing all the clues together."

"Yes. Well. Ahm, I guess that's true. Would you do me a favor, Teresa?"

"What, Isadore?"

"Would you tell your husband that I thank him for his role in solving the case?"

"Okay, but he's sitting here next to me."

"So what you're saying is you won't have to travel far to talk to him then. Good."

* * *

><p><em>2 months later…<em>

Grace Van Pelt and Wayne Rigsby were getting ready to call it day, but Grace decided to check messages before turning in. Doing a quick scan, she saw one from their old friend Teresa Lisbon. She chuckled that Teresa used "Archie" and "Hubby" to refer to Patrick Jane in written communication.

"Hey, Wayne. Teresa sent us a message."

She heard her husband mumble a reply as he was brushing his teeth.

"What does she have to say? Read it out loud."

Grace cleared her throat.

"'_Greetings, Grace and Wayne,_

_Sorry that Hubby and I have been out of touch; we haven't had a chance to catch our breath lately. We're all doing well, although Charlie delights in pushing the limits of what he can do. We have to keep a constant vigil on that young man to keep him out of mischief. Like father, like son!_

_Henry and Annabelle had their baby this week. She's a beautiful girl named Flynn, and her parents are wild about her. Archie is already teaching Henry how to change diapers._

_Archie, Charlie, and I just got back from the big new event here in town, a for-real "Cannon River Crazy Days." The mayor was so pleased with how things worked out that he decided to stage an official festival. The last few days have indeed been crazy with all the role-players who descended on Cannon River. You name it, we've got it - ghosts, leprechauns, and even a giant squid running around town. Tonight at the park there was a formal debate between a team of Martians and a team of Venusians about which group more deserved to conquer the Earth. Sad to say they both lost._

_Tonight was also children's night at the festival. Charlie had the time of his life, and we made a picture of him with his three new best friends, this year's Grand Marshalls. I've attached the photo._

_Did you know that Cho is back in Cannon River for a visit? At least Archie and I *think* he's here. Supposedly he's staying with us, but neither of us have seen him since Monday. Oh, by the way, Capp Grainger just so happens to be back in Cannon River too. She told me that she was in town to visit her mother, but oddly Viola left to go on a cruise. I can see you two rolling your eyes right now! Henry told us he caught a glimpse of Kimball and Capp at her mother's house this morning. They were asleep under a blanket on the front porch swing. Anyway, Archie and I are having lunch with them tomorrow so I won't have to file a missing person's report._

_Let us know how you're doing, and come back to Cannon River soon. We'd love to see you!_

_Your friend,_

_Teresa'"_

Wayne walked into the bedroom.

"So Teresa sent us a picture of Charlie?"

"Yeah. Give me a second to open it." Grace clicked and an image filled her screen. "Aaaaah. You've gotta take a look at this."

Wayne peeked over his wife's shoulder.

In the middle of the photo was little Charlie with his arms outstretched and a sparkle in his eyes. Around him were his three new friends - Bigfoot, Space Thang, and D. B. Cooper.

Wayne's phone ringing drew their attention away from the photo. Clicking to answer the call, her husband smiled.

"Hey, buddy. Grace and I heard you were back in Cannon River. Someone else too. So how's…"

Wayne walked into the other room leaving Grace by herself. Closing the photo of Charlie, she sent a message to Teresa thanking her for the update. That done, she debated whether to wait up to hear the latest news about Cho or go to bed. Just as she decided on the latter option, the chime sounded for a new message. Looking on her screen, she saw it was another one from Teresa.

_Grace -_

_Capp just phoned me for some "gal" talk. Call me right now! ***NOW!***_

_- Teresa_

Before Grace could dial Teresa's number, Wayne bounded back into the bedroom, a grin stretched across his face.

"Honey, all of us need to get packed and ready to hit the road."

Wayne moved to the bedroom closet and rummaged around inside.

"What are you looking for?"

With a flourish, her husband lifted out his pair of black wing-tip dress shoes.

"These things." He blew some dust off the top of them. "Where's the shoeshine kit, Grace?"

"Under the bathroom sink."

"Here's a piece of trivia. Did you know that Teresa Lisbon also serves as a Justice of the Peace along with her duties as Police Chief?"

"Uh, no. Wait a minute. We're leaving to go somewhere? Now? Where are we going?" Grace asked.

A bundle of nervous energy, Wayne looked over at his wife as he smeared shoe polish across the top of one of the wingtips.

"We've gotta be at the Cannon River City Hall at 12 noon tomorrow."

"Why?"

"Kimball and Capp."

"Huh? Oh. Ohhhhhhhhhh!"

Grace trembled with joy as she finished dialing Teresa's phone. She heard an answering click on the other end of the line.

"_You'll never guess, Grace. Kimball and Capp just decided to…"_

"We're on our way, Teresa."

* * *

><p>The end.<p>

* * *

><p>Thank you for reading, following, and favoriting the story, and I'd love to hear from you!<p>

Mark Collie and Aaron Tippin wrote "Something With A Ring To It," and Collie recorded it for his album _Hardin County Line_ in 1990.

Readers interested in the music used as chapter titles in the story can check out the playlist "_Mentalist - Cheerful Little Earful - playlist for fanfic_" in Youtube.


End file.
